"Patience"

The Commander watched his crew go about their business. This, the Command Center, the very pulsing brain of his mighty vessel seemed almost alive. It had taken much to secure this command - many years of planning an effort. But it was now his. And now, he had the ear of the queen. This current plan was his, from start to finish. It's success or failure would determine his future.

And in truth, to a degree, it was. His people had disdained the primitive form of technology favored by so many of the lesser races years and years ago. The smooth, chitinous surfaces were alive, though they had no soul. Vessels were grown, cultivated as carefully as a budding flower. Each different in it's own respect.

This was one of the mightiest his people had ever created. It would not be brought low by the Federation vessel as it's predecessors had. Their superiority and might would be fully proven, and the universe at large would understand that they were a galactic power. The Miranda would be dealt with. The others would deal with it's companion ship, the Galaxy. They had their own issues to resolve, and he would not hold that against them. These humans and their allies were a meddlesome people...

His thoughts were interrupted as an underling approached.

"Commander, sir." the youngling spoke, antennae twitching nervously. "You wish to be apprised when the Federation vessels arrived at the Breen homeworld."

"Yes, that's true." he said, looking to the young one expectantly.

"They..they have arrived."

"And how goes the deployment?" his eyes never moved from the screen, which shoed an image of the pristinely frozen nearby homeworld of the Breen.

"The devices will be fully placed within forty-eight hours, and ready for activation very shortly afterwards." was the quick reply.

The Adlan was well-informed, the Commander decided. He would spare him for his earlier hesitation. "Excellent news, Adlan. It pains me to rely on such ... Oddities. Our life forms were never meant to be combined with technology in such a manner, but even I must admit to their effectives. Instruct the technicians to complete their duties as quickly as possible."

"Yes, Commander." the Adlan responded, and began to walk away before performing an about face. "Commander, our allies also wish an update on our progress."

"Inform them, then." was the reply, as the Commander resumed his thoughtful stance.

Patrick Weber "Ray, when something asks if you are god, you say YES!"

Lt Cole Cantrell

Cantrell's quarters.

Splashing some water in his face, Cantrell looked at image in the mirror and grinned. He was a free man again. He felt a little bit disappointed. Freedom didn't have the quite the taste he had been hoping for. But that would come. Once he was off the ship he would vanish, slip into the shadier parts of society, maybe start smuggling or take up contract killing.

He twisted around just enough to see the bandage taped to his skin between his shoulderblades. That little white patch was the only telltale sign of his newly aquired freedom. His ace up the sleeve. Swiftly he ripped it off, revealing the thin scar Jaal had made in order to reach the datacore. A savage smile looked back at him in the mirror. Maybe it didn't taste as bad as he had first believed. He was free.

Cantrell grabbed a quick shower, going through his options. Getting off the ship wouldn't be too much of a problem as soon as it came back to a starbase again. Hell, he could probably make some sort of arrangement to get out whenever he wanted to. He would just have to feed Jordan or Eliathin some bullshit lie. For all they knew he couldn't lie. But both seemed to be intelligent people so that would have to be a last option.

Wrapping a towel around his waste the cyborg leaned heavily against the sink. He could feel the energy in his mind build up. He was not a man used to sitting still. Like his counterpart here in this universe he had spent his whole life going from one end of the galaxy to the other, usually with malice and pain in his wake. His neck cracked loudly as he rolled his head from side to side. There would not be any time to go to the holodeck. Besides, what would be the point? The holodeck was no challenge to him any longer.

Maybe an awaymission would do him good. If nothing else it would let him size everyone up. See what this universe was all about.

Taking the guns with him would be out of the question. He had a fairly good idea why Eliathin had picked him. If things got ugly, then there was no one onboard the Miranda that could match his combatskills. He was simply stronger, faster and could take far more beating than anyone onboard. Not to mention it would be a good time to get rid of him if that was what Elaithin and Jordan wanted. Too bad he no longer had to do what Eliathin told him.

The cyborg grinned savagely again and put pulled the uniform on. Man it was ugly! As soon as this was over and done with he'd replicate some of his old gear. How the hell did these people expect to make an impression on others when dressed in pyjamas? A duster, some bodyarmor, holsters and his guns. Now that would be fighting in style. Not this pansy do-good fighting.

Since getting released from sickbay after fighting his counterpart, Cantrell had spent a lot of time studying the file of the man he was supposed to be. A Starfleet Intelligence operative. A full combat cyborg. The more he had read about him the more he despised him. The man was nothing more than a brutal beast, fuelled by a hatred he no longer understood. A weak man, but Cantrell also understood why he had lost. That was something they had in common. Unnaturally strong and violent survivalinstincts. Every being had a survival instinct, but with Cantrell it was stronger, more primitive. It caused his mind to think clearer, made him deadlier than ever when his life was on the line. Still the two was not alike.

To Cantrell, his mirrorverse counterpart from the USS Miranda was a weakling. A coward who refused to accept what had been done to him. Instead he let his inner demons take control. But like any animal a very dangerous opponent when pushed into a corner. Just like himself. They would meet again, but then he would be the one setting the rules.

He looked forward to that day. Defeats left a bitter taste in his mouth, but for now he would settle with planning his revenge while waiting for the moment to get the hell of the Mir. Checking one last time he had everything he needed, or rather could bring without getting to much attention from the Breen, Cantrell tapped his badge to hail Commander Jordan. It would not do to leave the ship without getting instructions. Not that they mattered. But it was what the real Cantrell would have been forced to do.

"Cantrell to Commander Jordan." his dark voice rasped through the intercom while a sly smile formed on his face. Showtime.

"The One with Two Commanding Enemies"

Ten Forward...

Jordan moved through ten forward, pausing to get some fresh fruit before she moved into the dining area. She caught site of Rayna O'Grady on her own, looking crestfallen and wholly, depressed. Jordan sighed softly; she'd heard the rumours of everything that was going on and wasn't quite sure what to believe, but, Rayna looked like she was about to jump out a window or crawl under the table and cry. This was looking to be a new role for Jordan, an irony she certainly appreciated as she moved toward the woman's table.

"Mind if I join you?" Jordan asked. "Everything else is pretty well filled." She offered a small smile.

Rayna had been avoiding Jordan and Arel since they reminded her of what wasn't going to be. She looked up but didn't smile back, "It's a free ship. Knock yourself out."

Jordan sat, despite Rayna's rather cold reply. "I'm sorry about everything, Rayna," Jordan stated. "About Mike and about the baby. I know how that last one is, it can't be easy for you, especially with everything else going on."

Annoyed, "Look, I said you can sit down here but don't start acting like you care. It's a little late for that. Besides, what would you know about losing a baby?" Rayna sighed.

Jordan sighed mentally. So it was going to be like that, was it? Well, no one said this would be easy. But. Jii was always encouraging her to make friends. Or at least, make peace, with other members of the officer staff. "I lost two pregnancies before we managed to keep this one," Jordan said, softly, organizing the fruit on her plate by color: strawberries, raspberries, blueberries, Bajoran shanae fruit (a bright purple color), oranges, and peaches, in that order, on a round. Not even Jerri knew about the miscarriages, and she'd told Jii reluctantly. But Rayna would know; she'd be able to empathize even if she didn't particularly show that. "And this one... it's still up in the air. It could go to term, my body could kill it tomorrow." She looked up at the security officer, managed a small, sad smile toward the other woman. "So I understand... and I do care."

She and Jordan may have had their differences but Rayna wasn't cold hearted. She was surprised and felt somewhat bad. Rayna waved over the waiter, rubbed her forehead as if she had a headache and then looked at Jordan, "I'm sorry, I didn't know."

Rayna ordered another drink. There was an awkward silence between them until the waiter approached, "I'll take another one of these." The waiter was going to say something but held his tongue and walked away. Rayna thought about what it would have been like to carry a baby for so long then to lose it. As a mother, she felt for her predicament, "I hope everything works out for you." The drink came and Rayna stared into her glass.

"Yeah, we'll see I guess," Jordan said, watching Rayna. She looked so... sad and broken. Her hair wasn't as shiny as it used to be and the creases of her face were deep and shadowed. She had bags under her eyes. If she was sleeping, it wasn't well. "Do you, ah, need to talk or anything?" Jordan questioned. "Or someone to help with the kids? I know you and I aren't exactly on the best of terms, hell... let's call it as it is: we hate each other, right? I mean, maybe we've never said it in so many words, but... there's definitely no real love between us, under normal circumstance. And... well, I'm sure there's a hundred people crawling over themselves to be your friend and help you out and I bet those in counseling are just drooling over this, right? " Jordan smiled slightly. "But I'm here if you need anything, okay? Like I said, I know a bit how it feels, and... I promise not to like you any more than I already did, how's that?" She offered a Cheshire-grin, though it slowly melted as she watched Rayna drink from the glass.

Rayna couldn't stand all this niceness spilling out of Jordan but on the other hand, she started to doubt if maybe she had her all pegged wrong. She wasn't even sure if she really hated her. After all, what did Jordan do to her besides stick up for her husband that day in the brig? She wasn't the one who had anything to do with Jii's decisions to have her step down. He did that all on his own.

Rayna had two choices. She could get up and walk away or stay and try to make up with this woman who seemed so set on winning her over. Rayna decided to stay. Mike had been trying to get her to make friends on this ship but Rayna didn't want anything to do with friends. It took Mike's disappearance to make her realize how important it was to have friends. Rayna swallowed her pride or it was the liquid in the glass of hers causing her to become soft. Either way, Rayna broke her silence...

"I don't hate you." She took a big gulp of her drink, "I don't even know you. My fault, I guess. I've known Jii for a long time. Even served under him on the Galaxy back in our Security days. When I found out that I was going to be working with him again, I thought it would be like old times and it was...at first. Then everything went downhill from there. Things changed and then you came along and Jii seemed to change too. Now, I feel like we've been traded in for a new shoe or something."

Rayna cleared her throat, then took another drink. She fought back the tears, "I guess I resent you. Hell, maybe I am even envious of you, I'm not sure. I'm not sure of anything right now except that Mike has been gone for three months and Jii hasn't said one thing to me about him and he was supposed to be Mike's friend."

Rayna finished off the last of her drink and waved the waiter over for another one. He hesitated but Rayna reminded him that she was off duty and for him to keep his place. She then looked at Jordan, "Now you know."

"Maybe..." Jordan began. "Maybe he just doesn't know what to say?" she asked. "Especially since he was Mike's friend and he is your friend, too. And it was such a hard decision for him, asking you to step down." Jordan took a slow, deep breath, and released it just as slowly. "It just began to seem like you had different priorities, maybe and..." She was encroaching on dangerous territory and she shrugged.

"I don't know. I don't hate you either, Rayna, I just sort of figured that you hated me and I would return the favour. I guess I saw it more as an adversarial lack of a relationship than anything else; not like a James Mitchell thing or whatever." She chuckled softly. "I mean hell, kinda what you were saying, maybe I was a little envious. You know how women are. Between you and Heather Snachez and several other women, it's like Jii has a half dozen big sisters looking to beat me up.

"Besides all that... I entered into the senior staff under different circumstances than most, as the captain's girlfriend at the time, and I don't know. The reception wasn't exactly warm." She smiled thinly. "People had me pegged as something, who was I to even try to prove them wrong?"

"We finally agree on something. I know what people think about me but they are completely wrong. I gave up a long time ago trying to convince them otherwise."

Rayna always had this reputation of being a strong, tough broad because that is what she thought they expected of her as a security guard. Only now, people were finding out that she was far from that person she once portrayed. That wall she kept up was knocked down the day the search for Mike was called off and she had to face that he might not ever come back.

"I guess the secret is out now. I see how people look at me. They all have this look of pity." She took a drink once more then when she put it down, she looked into it once more, "Poor Rayna, poor pathetic Rayna." She shakes her head then gulps down the last of the drink.

"Hey, it's better than some ways they could look at you," Jordan said. "At least they don't look at you like you're psychotic. There's always a silver lining. I've been in intensive therapy for a month and change now, so..." She shrugged. "Don't know how much it's really helped, but hell, whatever. We all have issues. Some of us just have different reasons for it. Some of us have more concrete reasons for it. But we cope. We get better. And sometimes we have to rely on other people to do it and give up giving a shit what they think about us because, you know what I've found? Those of us, like you and me, for instance, who pretend we couldn't possibly care less about what everyone else thinks and says? We're the ones who care the most. I just... I've done a lot of stupid shit in my like, Rayna, tried to cope in a lot of stupid ways, and they only hurt in the long run. Alcohol, drugs, food, starving, cutting, sex... it just makes it worse, so... if you need anything. At all. Even someone to be angry with. Or... to commiserate with. Or to talk through the whatever with. Or hell, sit there and be silent with. Let me know. Alright? We don't have to become the best of friends or anything. But maybe we can be two people who know what some really shitty stuff feels like."

Another glass was brought over, "Maybe. And you're right about one thing, alcohol doesn't help in the long run. In fact, nothing can. But it makes me feel better for the moment." She started on the next glass, "I just hope to God that you never have to experience the loss of your husband. Losing a child is bad enough but losing both at the same time?" She didn't need to finish her sentence. Jordan's expression said that she made her point.

It was obvious that Rayna was plastered. She spoke with sarcasm, "So, now that we have this new found friendship, what ever shall we talk about?"

Jordan took the glass out of Rayna's hand pretty easily and dropped it -- threw it more likely -- onto the floor, where it shattered as she stood. "Getting you the hell out of here before you fuck up anything that you still have going for you," Jordan stated, taking Rayna's arm with a strength surprising from someone who was as stick thin as the Intelligence Officer. "Don't even think of protesting, Rayna, or I'll use my top-secret intelligence immobilisation techniques and drag you, unconscious, to your quarters."

Unconsciousness, that was exactly what she was trying to achieve. It would be a hell of a lot better. She yanked her arm from Jordan's hold, "Top secret intel...intel immo something my ass. I see, you think you can push me around because you are married to the Captain."

Everyone was watching as this went on, "For your F.Y.I. if you must know, I can't fuck up anything more because everything is fucked up already. So go ahead and do your mumbo jumbo shit or leave me the hell alone."

"Oh get the hell over yourself!" Jordan exclaimed, grabbing the woman again, firmly, and practically dragging her out of the cantina which was, frankly, a feat. "You haven't fucked anything up, you've just let shit take over your life, and if you think Jii would touch this with a ten foot poll, you don't know him at all like you think you do. So stop acting like a child; I swear that Toryl is older than you're acting right now." Jordan cursed as Rayna O'Grady became heavier. She vowed then and there that this savior thing, it just wasn't for her. Rayna was the last one. Jerri was one thing, but this was the only stranger intervention she was going to do. Ever. This was it. "You know, Rayna, you make me look like a happy and pleasant drunk."

They stumbled and Jordan turned her ankle, cursing again.

Rayna fell, amazingly managing not to take Jordan down with her. She noticed all eyes watching them, "What are all of you staring at?" She then looked over at Jordan, "Damn it. Just stay away from me Jordan." Rayna stands up, a little unsteady on her feet, "Or something really bad will happen to you too."

Rayna started to leave only to be stopped by security who had been called. Rayna stared at one of the men under her and sighed, "Great, just f*n great."

Jordan glanced to her side and another security officer stood beside her. "The best intentions," Jordan muttered.

"Commanders, you're going to have to come with us, for causing disturbance and public intoxication." The Lieutenant looked first at Jordan and then at Rayna. "Don't make us have to force you."

------ The Brig ------

Jordan sighed and leaned her head back. Jii was on the Starbase in meetings. This was just another in a long line of... but this time, it really had been best intentions. She hadn't meant anything to happen. She glanced over at Rayna who was laying on the bed.

"I'll take the blame for this," she said to the other woman. "It's fine. We'll come up with a story... I started buying you drinks because I know the feeling and then I said something and you got mad and I got mad back... We were so loud, the witnesses wouldn't be able to tell one way or the other who started it or who said what... You have too much on your plate right now. But you should get help, Rayna."

"I need help, pshaw, I have plenty. Shinta won't leave me the hell alone. I think she enjoys the power trip or something."

"Huh. Maybe she does, I hadn't thought of that before," Jordan mussed. "I probably would if I was able to call someone crazy and whatever..."

Rayna sat up, "Look, I appreciate the fact that you are willing to take the heat but I don't need you on my conscience too. I'll take what I deserve. Besides, your husband expects this behavior from me. Plus, you have to live with him, I don't." Rayna laid back down with a sigh.

"Ha. This is true. He expect it from me too, though. AND he has to live with me, not with you. He'd be easier on me." She smiled slightly. "Rayna. I don't know what Shinta's intentions are, or anyone else's. I've all but given up trying to speak for other people and reach conclusions of their ends because it just drives me crazy and--" She paused, closing her eyes a minute, putting her hand to her forehead. "Oh fuck. Can I get some water?!" she shouted toward the forcefield. "And some biscuits! Please?!"

Rayna smiled as she shook her head and laughed to herself. She wasn't a stranger to morning sickness and she could tell that Jordan was suffering majorly from it. If Rayna could only count the many times she spent sleeping in the restroom on the floor next to the toilet. She, at one point, had made a nice bed in there. She remembered the days when she couldn't even lift her head without hurling. With the twins, she didn't experience it as much but it still was the awful part of being pregnant...

Her smile was replaced with a sad expression. She looked like she was going to cry. Right now, she'd be getting just past the nausea and starting to enjoy the pregnancy. She looked over at Jordan and felt envious once again of her. She was a reminder of what wasn't going to be and this made her feel empty inside. Rayna got up with a loud sigh or more like a growl and moved towards the forcefield, "Hey, butthead, I'm still your boss and I rank higher than you so either get this girl what she asks for or when I get out of here, you will be wishing you had."

Rayna stood there for a long moment then threw her hands in the air, "Well, I tried." Putting her hands on her hips, "Maybe if I throw myself into the forcefield..."

Commander K. Jordan Elaithin
USS Miranda RPG

and

Commander Rayna Lamar O'Grady
AS/TO USS Miranda RPG

"Mumbling"

Ensign Paulo DiMillo,
Assistant Chief Intelligence Officer

Paulo sat at his control station. He was still unsure of what happened that night between he and Cora. Though right now was not the time for thinking of that.

Paulo looked down at his panel and read over the information he had. This whole situation with the Breen had him jumping through hoops trying to gather information. Paulo still didn't understand why the Breen wanted to talk. All the information he had sitting in front of him didn't tell him a frikkin thing.

Paulo took the PADD from the crewman walking by and looked at it. It was just the latest data feed from SFI, and Paulo would look at it later.

"Why?" Paulo asked himself as he looked over the information he had for the 20th time. "The whole Breen system is messed up to start with. Considering that it should not exist, it was stable and in no danger. There has to be something else," Paulo kept mumbling as he kept looking over the information. Something just didn't fit. -- Major Pete "Aceman" Shaw Hazard Team XO/Hazard Six USS Miranda-B

Ensign Paulo DiMillo
Assistant Chief Intelligence Officer
USS Galaxy

"Smert' Shpionam" Part II ("Death to Spies")

Major Wes Hammond,
Rogue Squadron CO/Rogue 1,
USS Miranda

Flight Officer Jasmine Heloi
Vanguard Squadron XO/Vanguard 6,
USS Galaxy,

Pilot Tyten,
Flight Officer/Vanguard 5,
USS Galaxy

Ensign Doctor Mark Mnementh,
Medical Officer,
USS Miranda

Ensign John Ramirez Jr
Flight Controller,
USS Miranda

Thot Pran,
Squadron Commander,
Breen Triad Lead
Gravnor

-----------------------
Transporter Control Unit Aft,
Triad Lead
Gravnor
-----------------------

It had taken a brief moment after his molecules reassembled for it to happen, but there it was in it's overwhelming presence. The cold. Though it was obvious that the Breen had made accomodations for them to be present within the hostile enviroment that they normally existed, one thing they couldn't eliminate was the cold.

Surprisingly, it didn't have the psychological effect on Tyten as he had thought that it would. No complaints, no snide remarks, not even a passing joke crossed his mind. He simply stood at attention staring at the Breen delegation standing before them.

Wes was considerably more casual about their appearance. Dressed in his flight jacket, Wes took a far more casual stance on the platform. The penetrating cold was going to be a nuisance, but not one that he was unaccustomed to. His native Corvallis had unpredictable and often frosty weather.

Jasmine shivered slightly as her body attempted to adjust to the temperature change. Of all temperature extremes, cold seemed to bother her the most. She had been born and raised in a temperate to jungle-like environment - even after all her years away from home and in Starfleet she was far more comfortable in those climates. Her flight jacket was welcome warmth, but she suppressed the urge to close the jacket in front of the Breen. It was too much of an admission of weakness, at least she suspected it would be in their eyes. As the only female on the observation team, she figured that she would be one of the ones watched the most.

"Follow." A single, solitary Breen stood awaiting the arrival of the Federation 'observation teams', its khaki garb devoid of any markings previously recorded in earlier encounters or recovery. The form-fitting uniform was riddled with infused overlays of cooling arrays. Cybernetic implants in its palms were partially visible as it gestured the general direction of a dark corridor it passed under.

"You are to remain in the assigned sections upon our arrival at the designated coordinates." The universal translators, affected by the intense cold, were hesitant in delivering the speech. The humanoids breaths hung misty in the air even as they cast suspicious glances at each other while stepping off the platform.

"Failure to comply will result in immediate and severe consequences. Termination of life signs would be imminent."

Ramirez had to try as hard as he could to quell the urge to leap off the Transporter pad and throw their Breen hosts a few right hooks. He had been after an away mission for so long he didn't want to get himself grounded, he wanted to be able to put the past behind him, like the Breen were trying to do. 'But I'll be watching them,' he thought, 'If they give me any reason to, I'll knock 'em down so fast they won't know what's hit 'em'.

[Bioscan filters complete. Processing results... Processing...] The Breen Web, encompassing all the alien crew as they were joined with the core as its central processing node, shared the information throughout the interned crew. Thot Pran, interlaced by neural interface, took on the vocal component of the essence of the core.

[Nanotechnology detected. Infractions extracted from subject while in matter stream. Technology routed to development for further testing. Continue]

"Any weapons you have carried have been extracted or nullified during the matter stream transport. This will be your only infraction warning. Compliance." Under the overly large protuberant helmet, the voice, even though mechanical as it emitted from the translators, still foreshadowed an emotion of resentment. Its helmet shook with each syllabic chitter and whistle in emphasis of points that could be construed as anger.

Jasmine suppressed the urge to check for the multi-tool that she usually carried in her jacket pocket. It's familiar weight was gone, even though it was not necessarily a weapon. At least she had several back on the Galaxy, but she couldn't help the momentary resentment that flowed through her veins at the realization that it was gone. She mentally thanked her lucky stars that she had dealt with some of the more trying individuals in show business for many years before she encountered the Breen. Then again, he made Lola Porter - a particularly unpleasant publicist - seem to be a mere lamb in comparison.

As one of her friends used to say in a sarcastic voice, 'Ah just FEEL the love.'

Mark Mnementh's expression remained stoic as he considered the implications of the Breen officer's statement that any weapons had been extracted or nullified during the matter stream transport. Was it bravado? Was it a bluff? Had they detected the nanites and removed them? How thorough was the Breen's transporter and filtering technology? Could they have gotten all the nanites? Could only a handful have escaped? Maybe a few that had bonded to the inside surface of the capsule in Mark's molar remained? But if the Breen had succeeded in removing the nanites it was most unfortunate because those nanites would have found their way into the Breen's communications system and transmitted a homing beacon and a warning to the Miranda and the Galaxy should this observation mission head south. But if just a few somehow did remain, would they be enough to send a coherent message to the Miranda and Galaxy? Of course, the matter was moot now. There was no way to tell without trying the coded sequence and releasing the nanites, and unfortunately, warning had been served. Lucky for Mark, only the coded tooth tapping sequence that would have released the nanites could activate their programming. Without activation, they were simply inert, undifferentiated micro machines. Thus, there was no way for the Breen to discover their programming or intent. Mark smiled. His parents would have been proud of that detail. Should the Breen ask Mark why he possessed the nanites he could simply explain that they were a dental treatment. Now the only question remaining, in Mark's mind at least, was whether or not the contents of his physician's medical kit were intact. But be that as it may, now the away team was truly on its own.

As the crew were led throughout the dimly lit corridors, a condensation formed even as they shivered in the glacial temperature. Un-noticed by the forward-facing Starfleet officers, a green glyph glinted on the array of the Breen who had become their unofficial tour guide.

[Shar'or has been imprisoned. We have been betrayed. Initiating detainment and interment procedures.] A pair of Breen security guards fell into step behind the crew, disruptor rifles held at waist level and pointed directly at the backs of the Starfleet crew. The lead Breen halted, turning to face the humanoids as they in turn faltered in their silent step. Two more like security guards fell into position behind him.

"You have betrayed our trust. We sent over our observers in good faith, and you in turn take them prisoner. This will not be tolerated. You will be terminated and your ships destroyed."

~Fuck...~ Hammond thought to himself. The crew of the two ships knew better than to do something like that with so many of their own onboard the Breen vessels. This had to be a bluff. It was too unsubtle.

"Woah," Jasmine said, stepping forward, "Let's not be so hasty here. Why don't you tell us what happened and we can handle this in a..." She was interrupted by a sharp prod with a weapon.

Ramirez felt the weapon against his back, he still tried to resist that urge he had to release some frustration on whoever it was who held that disruptor to him. It was common sense, the fact that he would be killed by one of the other Breen Guards, that stopped him from doing so.

~What the hell?!?~ Mark thought. Did he miss something. They had just beamed over. Neither Captain would pull a stunt like that on an invited diplomatic mission.

[Shar'or has transmitted her command codes. Belay countermeasures. Continue with pre-planned disposition of the observers.]

"There is hope for you yet, Starfleet. Your release of our boarding party was a sign of intelligence and forethought. We will continue on our present course of action. Thot Pran awaits your presence in his control node." Without waiting for a reply, he again turned his back to them and stepped into an access chute. The five guards interspersed themselves throughout the human chain as they climbed the well.

Wes shook his head. That had been a little heavy handed a show of force. He'd have to ask Elaithin about it later.

Heloi suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. It was always entertaining when the self-styled 'bad guys' decided to insult the 'heroes' of the story. Any moment now, she was expecting a Doctor Doom, or some other super-villian to arrive and explain just how evil they were and just what horrendous and easy to escape death was planned for them.

Jasmine thought it was rather entertaining how much reality mimicked fiction, especially when it came to the generic Breen. They were the classic bad guy. Bad tailors, raspy metallic voices, overblown sense of self - check, check, check.

'Clever,' the Betazoid thought as the Breen separated the Starfleet officers, preventing conversation or coordination. Even though they were technically on the ship as a symbol of peace, she could not help her urge to regard her visit as one of war. Cold, the war might be. But war all the same. She kept her eyes open and scanning as they climbed, categorizing what she saw with both a fighter pilot's and engineer's regard. Information was always useful...and if they did attempt to keep them separated well, there were ways around that.

Tyten walked up to Jasmine and whispered so only she could hear. "What the heck was that all about? One minute, they're ready to blow our heads off, the next we've made a 'wise choice'? Kind of gives you that ol' warm place in the heart to know that we're dealing with a race capable of gutting us clear through that has a multiple personality disorder."

The trouble with their orders to be diplomatic was that they couldn't guarentee that the other side was going to abide by the same rules.

Mark approached Tyten and Jasmine from behind and putting his hands on both their shoulders', inserted himself between them. "Just stay cool," he said.

"Uh, hello," Tyten whispered. "Have you checked the temperature in here lately?"

Mark supressed a chuckle, but his bright green eyes danced with amusement. "It's probably just a test. We're observing the Breen, they're observing us. I bet they're gauging how we're going to react if provoked. What we do here and how we react may be reflected in the Breen government's dealings with our Captains."

"That makes sense," Jasmine whispered.

"Right," Mark agreed. "So be alert, stay confident and use logic. If the Breen threaten us, this mission heads south instantly. So if the Breen aren't ready for swift and severe retaliation, we are all probably pretty safe."

"I think it's safe to say, Doctor, that that's generally a good goal," Jasmine nodded slightly.

Wes, who'd been standing on the other side of Jasmine, leaned over, deciding he'd heard enough. "Everyone cut the chatter. We're no doubt being observed by security recorders, so even your whispers are suspect. Let's put our best face forward and try to act like diplomats.

Ramirez could hear the conversation, just about, and to have the higher ranking officers saying that this mission could go down the pan at any moment was something that he took comfort in. If it did go arse over tit, then he knew that he'd certainly be up for the fight that would present itself. He just wasn't sure how much faith he put in the Breen to avert that situation.

The climb upwards took several long minutes. The cramped corridor, reminiscent of a Jefferies tube at a 45 degree angle, suddenly widened as a port juncture opened above the leading Breen.

Thot Pran, ensconced in his neural interface centered within the mist enshrouded central node, elevated his steel-layered seat so as he could bear witness to the visiting crew. An opaque shell had been encased over him, to keep his form from the Federation-types beady eyes. His helmet was firmly in place though, outside the chamber his body resided in. Dozens of monofilament fibers extended from his headpiece, only noticeable by glints of the freezing mist as ice particles came in contact with them.

"Stay clear from the consoles. Do not touch anything. Any queries can be directed to Rey'an." Rey'an upturned one palm up, close to his side, indeference to his identification. "Arrival at Breen in 42 of your Earth minutes."

"Thank you, Thot Pran," Wes said in the Breen's native language, though he suspected that the pronunciation was somewhat off. Given the differences in their vocal structure, it was a hard language to master. Finally those classes at the academy had paid off. Turning back to his group, he motioned for them to spread out across the bridge. "You heard him. Keep your hands to yourselves." The Breen would appreciate the reiteration.

"The New Security Officer"

By:
Ensign Adora Watkins

Adora had gotten aboard the Galaxy when they came to Starbase 212. She was nervous about being onboard, since this was her first posting fresh out of the academy. All of her stuff had already been taken to her quarters, so she was all set to meet up with the Chief of Security and get her duty assignment. As she walked through the halls, she kept catching little bits of peoples conversations about the Breen and them teaming up the Miranda for this mission. It was all quite a bit for her to understand. When she finally got to the Security Chief's office, she knocked on the door hoping they were there so she could talk to them.

OOC: Hope this is okay for my first posting. Just wanted to say hi to everyone and will be up for JP's at anytime.

"May the Best Pilot Win"

Lieutenant Corran Rex,
Vanguard Squadron Commander,

Ensign Elijah Faraal,
Flight Controller

Ensign Sh'laran,
Flight Controller

Ensign Miramon Terrick,
Flight Controller

Rex entered the Flight Control department's briefing room shaking his head slightly. Galaxy was, at present, without a senior pilot, and the Captain had... requested.. That he oversee that department until a suitable chief was found.

Ass such, one of his many duties was pilot evaluations. The three officers waiting on him were some of the best pilots on the ship, and two of them had only made it aboard just before the orders recalling everyone from leave had come. Ensign Sh'laran, an Andorian, had an.. Interesting background. Ensign Miramon, a Bajoran, was a former resistance fighter like so many of his race. And Ensign Faraal had been aboard Galaxy for some time already, though he was often the quiet type. Faraal was also one of the pilots aboard ship who were on Vanguard's 'fill-in' roster - pilots rated on the Bonzai class of Starfighter that could pitch a hand when needed.

"Good afternoon, Ensigns." the Lieutenant said, leaning on the table. "Mister Sh'laran, Mister Miramon, let me take this opportunity to welcome you aboard the Galaxy."

The Andorian's antennae twitched in mild amusement as he leaned back in his chair, putting down the PADD of star charts. "You're sure that this is a ship, right? Last I remembered, starbases weren't even this big..."

Miramon couldn't stifle the resulting chuckle. "It's not quite that big. Last time I checked, a Freedom class starbase has 690 decks, while a Spacedock would have 1200 decks. On a ship of 42 decks, I hardly think a Galaxy class constitutes a Starbase. I, for one, would not wish to try and pilot a Starbase. They don't tend to fit them with engines."

The Trill raised an eyebrow, though he certainly agreed with the assessment.

Sh'laran turned slowly to him, eyes aglow with amusement. "Someone else want to explain to this guy where I come from?"

Miramon shrugged. He wasn't really interested in the background - they had the briefing to focus on. With the situation aboard ship, now was not the time to play around with histories, false pretenses and arguments over knowledge and experience.

"I'd rather we got on with the briefing. I can review your service record later, if that would perhaps improve things, but as it is, I'm sure the Lieutenant has better things to do than listen to us banter."

Corran chuckled at that. "True enough." he said, and placed the PADD down behind him. "Here's the deal. You three are the top-rated non-starfighter pilots aboard this ship. With Lieutenant Savoie's departure, the Captain has asked me to appraise all of your performances, and make a recommendation as to which of you will be suitable to be the new Chief and Assistant Chief of the Department. Until that decision is made, though, you'll report to me. Any questions?"

Miramon shook his head. He figured the situation wouldn't be too clear cut - heck, this was a Galaxy class ship they were talking about. "No sir."

"Well then." Corran smiled. "Let the contest begin."

"Hunt Club" Part 1 of 2

[Backpost]

(Occurs just before the recall from SB 212)

Principle Characters

Lt. Commander Taalis Jaxom
Lt (JG) Victor Krieghoff

****

Starbase 212
Level 71
Detwiller's Antique Weapons

While Taalis didn't' feel 100% to be leaving the ship, she needed to just not see the same corridors and faces for a few.

Out of habit, she started perusing the stores and one in particular set her eyes to glittering. An antique store specializing in weapons of bygone days. Considering she'd picked up a scimitar and spear that had originated on her birthworld, she was definitely interested if she could find a mate to the scimitar.

Without a second thought she headed on in.

****

Starbase 212
Level 71
Scaring the passersby

Victor found visiting Starbases, like visiting Risa or one of the other traditional leave planets, an exercise in pointlessness. They were jammed full of people that had no experience in dealing with something like him in abstract, and less in dealing with it in person. Most simply fled - blindly or not - when he passed by, although there was always the odd Klingon or Nausican that reflexively reached for a weapon to fight back with.

The latter was why he always avoided taking leave. He had no desire to kill someone - or be killed, which was always a possibility in a fight - simply for walking down a corridor. That simply wasn't a valid reason for most circumstances, at least not to him. Death was serious, not to be given - or received - for frivolous reasons. Monster he might be, killer and predator he certainly was, but carelessly casual about his work he wasn't.

He wouldn't be here at all, in fact, were it not for two reasons. The first was simple enough: Angelienia. She'd been trying to see him for the last three days, ever since she'd gotten someone to explain what had happened to D'Tinya to her - he assumed it to be O'Rourke at one of their coffee klatch get-togethers - for the purported reason of 'helping him through things.'

He'd be damned if he was going to hide in his quarters from the woman, and had taken the opportunity to leave when she was called out to be part of some fighter exercise in the ship's graveyard with the rest of Vanguard Squadron. Even with the stares and the running, it was better here, at least for a time.

The second reason was more personal, though he doubted that any of his shipmates would understand that: So'ka had messaged him that there was an antique weapons dealer aboard the Starbase that had a chemical propulsion rifle for sale that he claimed was a 'Krieghoff .617' and had wondered if there was a connection because of Victor's rifle back in storage on the Galaxy.

That would have been enough to get Victor out of his room even if Angelienia wasn't trying to get into it. There was only one Krieghoff gun-making family - his - and no Krieghoff had made a rifle in .617 caliber in the last 300 years, which meant that the weapon was either a fake - most likely - or a true antique - far less likely. One way or the other, he'd find out.

He checked the data on the wall against the address So'ka had given him, realized that he was just around the corner from the shop, and smiled, the expression making a pair of ensigns on leave turn abruptly and head the opposite way. A few steps and he could see the shop - Detwiller's - and the window displaying a collection of antique hand weapons that interested him not at all. Three more steps, and he was in the doorway, waiting as his eyes adjusted.

****

Starbase 212
Level 71
Detwiller's Antique Weapons

Taalis had been perusing some of the Andorian tricrossbows, and had just picked up a rather nicely balanced firearm. She thought it might be a rifle or shotgun, always got those two confused.

She felt the presence before hearing the door open, and raised an eyebrow. Something about it was much like a psi's calling upon their ability for added 'oomph', but far too subtle to be a psi.

Intrigued, she turned around calmly and looked to see who it was.

Victor nodded to the woman at the counter, glanced at the rifle in her hands and dismissed any possibility that it had been the one So'ka had seen. "I'll wait," he said with a frown. "It may take a while."

Taalis set the rifle down, still watching Victor with a raised eyebrow.

"Please, go ahead. I'm looking for something more hands on."

Victor nodded and stepped up to the counter as the nervous clerk eyed him, one finger near the store's 'panic button' to Station Security. "Y-yes, sir?" the man asked warily.

"Chemical propulsion rife. Terran. Double barrel. Top break action. Caliber .617 Krieghoff."

The clerk relaxed slightly. "Ah... yes, sir, we have a rifle of that description. Very valuable piece. Let me call it up on the holodisplay here and..."

"No."

"S-sir?" The clerk's hand was back at the panic button.

Victor's frown deepened. "No holograms. I want to see the rifle."

"Ahh.. that's a valuable piece, sir," the clerk essayed carefully. "We don't normally..."

"Bring it out." Victor's voice was flat, without emotion, but as unyielding as tritanium. "I'll wait."

The clerk gulped, looked towards Taalis, and then nodded once and scurried back in to the back of the store. "I'll... I'll be right back, s-sir."

Victor watched him leave, frown undimmed, and glanced over at the store's other occupant. "Longer than I thought. Sorry."

"Not a problem," Taalis smiled, showing fang, "I've just never been a projectile weapon sort." A wave of her hand sent a tulwar gliding off the wall and into her hand, "Now something like this...now one can properly hunt with this or a good spear."

"Depends on what you hunt - and how." Victor appeared unconcerned by the telekinetic display. "Terran lion, yes, the Masai hunted them with short spears for centuries. Cappellan Power Cat... no. Not with hand weapons."

"It's all in the technique.", Taalis smiled, "Anything is possible with a hand weapon."

Victor frowned and looked at her. "No. There's at least one animal that can't be taken that way, and a good many that shouldn't be, not if things are supposed to be equal."

"Equal is meeting fang to fang and claw to claw," Taalis said, now starting to rather enjoy this discussion, "Ranged weapons put a buffer of safety in that takes from the immediacy of the hunt."

"Any fool can stand off and start shooting from a hundreds of meters away with a rifle until they hit something, especially if their target is a herdbeast of some kind," Victor replied. "That's not hunting, that's not real. For it to be real you have to be on foot, in the bush, and hunt something that's hunting you back in its territory. One predator hunting another. Live or die. That's real." He turned towards the counter. "For that you can't use just any rifle, you need a weapon designed for the task."

The nervous clerk scurried out of the store's recesses, an oblong metal case in his hands. He set it down and fumbled the latches open. "H-here you are, s-sir."

Victor looked into the open case, frowned a bit more, and reached inside it to lift out the rifle.

The weapon he withdrew looked nothing like the other rifles in the shop's displays to Taalis. It had two barrels laid side-by-side, no magazine or cocking system, and no signs of any mechanism to cycle the action - or anything that looked like an action for that matter, just two external hammers, one on the outside of each barrel. It was crafted with clean, simple lines; the barrels a dark metallic blue except for spots where wear had polished it down, and the wood of the stock a dark chestnut brown.

Victor turned the weapon over in his hands several times, stopped to examine places on it closely, and finally worked some control out of sight to Taalis that caused the barrels to hinge down where they joined the receiver, exposing the interior of the barrels which gave Taalis an idea about the size of the ammunition the weapon must fire.

Victor examined the weapon in this configuration for another minute, and then snapped it closed and lifted it up to his shoulder to sight down the barrel at a point on the back wall out of line with either Taalis or the clerk. "Where's your range?" he asked abruptly, without having lowered the weapon.

"Just to the l-left, s-sir," the clerk pointed. "But we don't have any ammunition for the weapon..."

"I brought my own."

"E-excuse me, sir?"

"I brought my own," Victor repeated as he lowered the rifle and hooked it over one arm in a casual gesture that bespoke of long practice and reached into his jacket to withdraw two rounds of metal-cased ammunition of a size that Taalis thought larger than strictly necessary for any weapon.

"Ahh... This is a very valuable item, s-sir," the clerk began. "I don't know if..."

Victor's frown darkened and he leaned forward, the indefinable sense of menacing presence surrounding him magnifying to push at the suddenly white-faced clerk hard enough to make the man take a step back. "Open the range," he repeated in a low growl that had more in common with a tiger's rumble than a human's words.

The clerk turned without another word and ran to the range's door to start keying in a series of commands.

The sense of presence emanating from Victor had pushed out to fill the shop and press against Taalis with an almost palpable force while he spoke to the clerk, and it maintained itself as he turned slightly towards her and spoke. "Two shots and I'll know. Then I'll be out of your way."

The presence wrapping around Taalis felt familiar in a way, almost comforting. But that could've been from what aftermemories from her still fairly recent situation. "I was rather enjoying our discussion of hunting. Even thinking of challenging you to a display of ability on one of the holodecks here."

He looked at her for a moment, and then shook his head. "I don't have a reason to kill you, Commander. I don't hunt sentients without one."

"I was thinking something along the lines of simulated quarry, whoever proves the better hunter sort of thing."

"Ah." He started to respond further, but was interrupted by the clerk. "It-it's ready, s-sir."

Victor nodded to Taalis, "This won't take long," and moved to the door of the range as the clerk retreated back to the safety of the counter. He paused at the controls, checked the settings, and sent a look towards the clerk that made the man move towards the back of the shop again. Without comment, Victor worked the controls to alter the setting - to Taalis' eyes, it appeared he increased the wall's shield protection and the microtractor controls for bullet captures, while decreasing the safety levels to an alarming, although not non-existent, level - and stepped inside without any effort to seal the door.

"Hunt Club" Part 2 of 2

[Backpost]

(Occurs just before the recall from SB 212)

Principle Characters

Lt. Commander Taalis Jaxom
Lt (JG) Victor Krieghoff

****

Starbase 212
Level 71
Detwiller's Antique Weapons

She could see him load the rifle through the open door, raise it to his shoulder, and fire one round. The discharge, less the sharp crack she'd expected and more of a roar, filled the shop and spilled out into the corridor outside, and the muzzle flash extended past her line of sight, at least half the length of the rifle. Victor rocked back slightly with the recoil in an obviously practiced move that absorbed what had to be punishing recoil without forcing him back, frowned, and raised the rifle again.

The second shot was as loud as the first, and had the same results. When the smoke from the weapon's discharge cleared, Victor was standing in the doorway of the range, the weapon broken open again. He extracted the two expended shell casings, apparently unconcerned about the heat that had to be radiating, and blew through the barrels to clear them of smoke before he set the casings in his jacket pocket again. "I'll take it."

"You... ahhh...." the clerk stammered. "That is an expensive piece, sir... are you sure...?"

Victor's frown returned in full force. "I'll take it," he repeated. "Charge it to commercial account Krieghoff Industries One Three Seven Niner, authorization code Victor Gamma Five."

The clerk looked at him dubiously, but keyed the request in - and then straightened up and nodded as the computer cleared the transaction with a cheery 'ding.' "Yes, sir, Mr. Krieghoff," he replied, voice still shaky. "Is there anything else I can do for you, sir?"

Despite the frown, Victor nodded. "Place my name on your contact list for any further acquisitions of this sort. If unable to contact me, contact Klaus Gustav Krieghoff at the number listed on the account."

The clerk made some notations, nodded, and reported, "That's done sir."

Victor turned to Taalis as he started back towards the counter. "Sorry for the delay, Commander."

"No apologies needed," Taalis said, "Interesting firearm."

"Not interesting," he corrected as he tested the barrel's temperature with a finger, "Unique. Made in 2057 by Gerhardt Danner Krieghoff on Terra for Adolph Hertzog Krupp of the Kruppwerkz Conglomerate."

"And interesting can't be unique as well?" Taalis asked with a raised eyebrow.

"'Interesting' is a word that Counselors use when they mean 'why are you allowed to walk around and interact with normal people,'" Victor replied, in something closer to the flat and emotionally void voice he'd used when he'd first arrived at the shop. "Not a word used to describe a work of art."

"True.", Taalis said, "Though I don't quite see how a firearm could be a work of art. Perhaps you can enlighten me?"

"I don't know." Victor looked at her for a moment. "What is art to you?"

"A well crafted blade, how a body moves in combat, to me, that is art."

Victor nodded, and looked at her penetratingly for a moment. "You're 5'8", about 157 pounds. Krupp was only an inch taller than you and no heavier in build. He reached out and lifted one of her arms, eyes gauging its length. "Your reach is almost the same." He released her, and reversed the weapon without closing the action, offering it to her. "It will be a little off since it wasn't made for you, but you should be able to tell a difference between it and any common rifle."

Taalis took the rifle respectfully since it was easy to see the reverence Krieghoff held for the weapon. Her eyebrow slowly made its way up her brow as she carefully closed the action and weighed it in her hands. "This is unlike any rifle I've held," she commented.

"It should be. It was made expressly for a man of almost your height, build, and reach. In his hands, it would be weighted and balanced perfectly, like a living extension of his body." Victor nodded at the weapon. "Sighting will be easier as well, the rifle should fall naturally into a near-perfect sight picture when you shoulder it. For Krupp it would have been perfect every time."

Taalis did peer down the sights and nodded more to herself in seeing the proof of Victor's words.

"Unlike most rifles, this one is sighted in at only 10 meters. The sights aren't adjustable, but will work as designed out to 50 meters, after that the shooter would need to ignore them and shoot from experience with the weapon."

"With such as this, one would be a fool to miss with it," she commented.

“Anyone can miss, Commander. A sudden shift in wind, dust in the eye, an unexpected movement by the target, - there are a thousand reasons why. That’s why you have to be in close, to give your opponent a chance to take advantage of your mistakes just as you have a chance to take advantage of his.” He tapped the rifle’s barrel. “You only have to shots, and at less than 10 meters, you’ll almost never get more than one off. If you miss…” He shrugged. “Sometimes you get the tiger, sometimes the tiger gets you.”

"Or where I came from, the sandworm does."

"How large to these sandworms get?" Although his voice hadn't changed in its even tone, there was a hint of curiosity and interest in Victor's pale blue eyes.

"Newly hatched...easily the length of this store," Taalis said, "They move under the sand like a fish swims in water, track you by vibrations. Only soft spot on them's in their outer mouth. The inner mouths they've got have a good reach."

"Do they surface to attack their prey?" The interest was definite.

"Sometimes.", Taalis said, "Lot of times just the inner mouths come up and pull you down before you have time to scream. The outer mouth's more like a beak, splits into three when it's open. Full grown one could use a Nausican for a toothpick."

"Hmmm. Do they burrow through rock? Or just soil?"

"Sand, and if you can get up a big enough rock, you can hopefully outwait them if you're quiet enough. Smaller rocks they can either grab you with their inner mouths or just swallow you and the rock. They do spit far with the rocks though."

"And they're only native to your homeworld? Nowhere else?"

"Never seen them anywhere else, so I'm figuring that's the only place for them. I've got a holodeck program of my world with them in it to keep in shape."

"Hmmn." He studied her for a moment, and then appeared to make a decision. "Would you be willing to make a copy? I can offer a trade - I have ... a number... of hunting programs that would be suited for your style of hunting."

"Certainly.", Taalis said with a soft smile, "Though in my opinion it works best with the safety protocols on minimum or off. So you know; my birthworld's a harsh desert, one to make noon at Vulcan's Forge look like a pleasant spring afternoon."

He shrugged. "You go where the prey is. There's no challenge in anything else. I'll have to see about the settings. Ship's regulations forbid disabling the safety protocols completely. I normally classify them as training programs and turn the protocols down to the limit."

"The program's quite accurate, at highsuns the sand does melt into glass in parts."

Victor nodded. He'd need to make some studies on the effects of the heat on metals before he took his rifle into an inferno like that. "What do you want in return? I have a complete library of Terran, Andorian, Vulcan, Centauran, and Klingon predator species, as well as a number of others like the Cappellan Power Cat."

"The Power Cat does sound interesting. Do you have any others like that?"

"Exactly, no. The Trandisharii Spine Wolf and the Kelonian Razor Beast both hurl specially-adapted spines or quills at prey, but no other predator I have hunted is adapted to fire bolts of electricity or energy at prey. I have programs for both of those as well if you want?"

"I certainly would," she smiled, "I just hope the program of my homeworld is worthy enough for the trade."

"I've never hunted there," he answered, as if that made perfect sense. He held out a hand for the rifle. "Where should I send them?"

"Commander Taalis Jaxom, Miranda."

"Krieghoff. Victor Krieghoff. I'm on the Galaxy."

"I had a friend on that ship.", Taalis said, "But she is no longer with us."

"Recently lost?" Victor asked as he turned away and settled the rifle in the case. "Or further back?"

"Recent. We once were in Security together."

"D'Tinya." The name was said in a flat, contextless tone, as though he were merely observing a dry fact.

"Yes," Taalis said, "Did you know her?"

He nodded once as he closed the case and turned back. "She was a good officer. She made good choices; even the last one. The others don't understand that."

"Then they didn't know her as well as I or the others we served with.", Taalis said with a nod.

Victor shrugged. "They don't want her to be dead. They'd rather it had been me instead. It wasn't my day to choose, though, it was hers."

"Our time comes when it does," Taalis said, "Always has been that way, always will."

"They were born sheep, and even if some of them have made themselves into wolves, there's still a sheep inside them, somewhere. That's the part that doesn't want her to be dead - and does want me to be. Sheep don’t want to die, don't want to be alone - it's part of their nature." He studied her for a moment, his pale, almost colorless eyes seeming to look inside her. "You're not a sheep, I think. Maybe your homeworld burned it out of you."

Taalis wasn't about to explain how she was the way she was, the tale itself even had her shaking her head once the truth was known. "You do rather remind me of the people from home," she said, though she knew that was an impossibility because of his eyes, "Rather refreshing to find another who has no illusions about the way things are beneath the surface."

"I've known what I was since I was a child, Commander. When the sheep around me were developing their illusions about the way the universe works, I never did because there was no point to it. Just like I never bothered to try and find a way to hide what I was, there was no point to that either"

"I'd wager you had trouble with the Ethics class at the Academy as I did," she smiled, "And being honest with one's self is a rare thing these days."

"Any day, Commander." He looked at her for a moment, and then offered, "The instructor called for a counseling review after he read my final paper. I believe he referred to me as a 'homicidal psychopath' in his complaint."

"Mine assigned me a tutor. Thankfully he was Klingon and coached me on what answers were best to give to pass."

"They tried a tutor, but I wouldn't say things that weren't true, even to pass their course. They put a Vulcan doctor in my head, instead."

Taalis winced, recalling what it was like to have a mindmeld forcefully done. "Not a pleasant thing."

"I lived," Victor said dismissively. "It was worse for the doctor, I think. He used some obscure discipline and rode around in my head for two weeks, watching me, before he decided I was something they could let wear the uniform. I think he went on leave right after that and took the Kholinar."

"I have family that have undertaken it, I still feel it's a retreat from the world."

"Retreat is always an option, Commander," Victor observed mildly. "Just not one that everyone can accept."

"True.", Taalis said, "I've been fortunate to not have to do that."

“Never dismiss it, Commander. Sometimes retreat is the best option. There’s no shame in it if done for the right reasons. Retreat is not the same as flight.”

"Where I was born, retreat usually meant death. So naturally I avoid it as much as possible."

"Understandable. I was born on a Starbase. Fewer places to run there than on a planet."

"I would imagine your first time on a planet was quite an experience."

"I was four. I don't remember it. My mother tells me that I ran into the undergrowth as soon as I realized there were animals in it and wouldn't come out for hours because I was stalking them." He smiled humorlessly. "Even then I knew what I was."

"I guess I'm the only one who finds that story cute," Taalis said, "My first planet other than my birthworld was Terra, and I found the trees intimidating."

"It was water for me - open water that stretched out further than I could see, and was deeper than I could dive. You don't see that on starbases."

"I thought it was a hallucination to see that much water in one spot,"

Taalis chuckled, "It had been more water than I'd seen in my life."

"Seeing it from space and from the shore aren't the same thing," he agreed.

"What did you think of your first time swimming in it?", Taalis asked.

"I was unwilling to swim in any water that I couldn't see through until I was 10."

"I was uneasy going in farther than knee high my first time. I didn't know what to expect from that much water."

"I did. Things lived in it, and if things lived in it, there were things that hunted them - which meant they would hunt me if I were in the water. That's why I refused to swim where I couldn't see them coming."

"Have you tried hunting the larger predators in the water, like sharks?"

He shook his head. "No. I leave their world to them, just like I do the Asteroid Worms of Kratos. The hunt can't be equal because of the difficulties in adapting myself to their native terrain, so I let them be." He lifted the rifle case. "Likewise, chemical propulsion arms aren't designed for either environment, and that is how I hunt."

"Have you tried other weapons, or just stick with the firearms?"

"It's the way my family has hunted for 695 years, Commander." He hefted the case again. "Always with weapons that we've made ourselves." He shrugged. "I haven't spent the time to learn proper use of a hand weapon, and the things I hunt can't be taken with bare hands. It's what I know."

"Tradition is one thing I can't find fault with," Taalis said, "And for that long, even for the longer lived races, that is quite a respectable time."

"The family does other things to support itself besides make rifles now, has for the last few centuries, but we have always hunted - that hasn't changed." He glanced at the forgotten blade in her hand. "Do you make your own weapons?"

"I have, but not now.", Taalis said, "Mostly I look for the ones that were crafted in days long gone on my homeworld. I haven't been able to figure out the metal used. It's unlike any I've seen before."

"Is it replicatable?" Victor asked curiously.

"Not quite.", Taalis said, "I can come close to the hue, but nothing to the durability and strength. I currently have a blade that's similar to a Terran Manchu broadsword and a spear that's entirely crafted from it."

"If you haven't already, try looking at the composition of the alloy and see if there's a percentage of latinum in it - it doesn't have to be much, even on part per million will disrupt the quantum level scans needed to replicate something. It's how we keep our products unique."

"I don't recall seeing latinum in the scans, but I will double check that. Would it be too forward if I sent the report to you for your opinion?"

"If you want, but I'm no metallurgist," he warned. "I just make rifles."

"But you have more knowledge than I, and while I could go to Sciences, I don't want them tearing apart what I have to analyze it."

"All right," he agreed suddenly. It was plain enough to him that her vulcanoid heritage was blocking the effect he normally had on people, and he saw no reason to alienate anyone that he could actually talk to. "No promises, though."

"None expected," Taalis said with a soft smile, "Considering your respect for weaponry, I trust that over any scientist at this point."

Victor nodded, looked at her for a moment, and then offered, "Do you want the tutorials that go with the hunting simulations? They'll be larger programs, but you might find the information on the animals and their habits useful."

"I'd like that. Thank you," Taalis said.

"I'll send them over today. They'll be on isolinear chips - I don't like storing my programs in the ship's computers where other people can access them. Someone would get hurt."

"That's how I keep my programs saved," Taalis said, "Best to avoid accidents."

Victor's response was cut off by a voice from his combadge. =/\= All crew members of the USS Galaxy are hereby ordered to return to ship immediately. Repeat, all Galaxy crew are to report back immediately. =/\=

"Hunh. First leave time I've taken in ten years and we have to leave early. I told Counselor Dallas this was a waste of time." He nodded to Taalis. "I'll send the chips before we depart, Commander."

Taalis raised an eyebrow. She and Jaal had plans for this leave and now it was looking like that was out the window if one ship was getting called. Not soon after the Miranda's crew was recalled as well.

"I shall do the same.", she said to Victor.

(Backpost- takes place before Miranda/Galaxy enter Breen space.)

"Roulette"

by
Ensign Tarin Iniara,
Operations,
USS Galaxy

Location: Holodeck Four, USS Galaxy

Red lights pulsed silently, alternately illuminating and deluminating the hallways of the USS Galaxy. Two Jem'Hadar warriors marched in formation; their near-identical features making them seem like twins. The pair made their way out of sight, and the area fell silent once more.

Seconds later, a small panel popped outward from the wall. Two arms poked out, setting the beige panel down softly before withdrawing back into the wall. A moment later a pair of legs appeared, then a body, head, and finally arms again. The figure crouched next to the wall, drawing what appeared to be a machete out of the hole from which it had exited. The panel was replaced as quickly as it had been removed, and then the figure was on its way.

-------------------------

Just a little further, Iniara thought to herself as she stalked along, stepping lightly to avoid making any sound. She moved quickly, keeping close to the wall in a semi-crouched position, weapon held firmly in front of her.

The hallway terminated in a T intersection not far ahead. Iniara paused at the junction, flattening against one wall as she checked for stray Jem'Hadar. Satisfied the hall was empty, she slinked around the corner and continued on her way.

Finding the correct door, Iniara tried the lock with no success. She pulled the access panel away from the wall, then bypassed the locking mechanism. The door made a loud swishing sound and then popped open slightly. Iniara clenched the huge knife in her teeth then crammed both hands in the small opening, forcing the doors apart far enough so that she could slip through them.

Cargo Bay 3 was pitch black save for the pulsing red alert lights filtering in from the hallway, lighting no more than seven or eight meters of the expansive bay's glossy floors. It made the glowing red beacon hovering in mid-air-- her ultimate objective-- that much brighter.

Iniara forced herself to look at the black ground around her feet, waiting a few moments as her pupils adjusted to the lack of light. Staring at either the beacon or the partially open doors for too long would cause her irises to clench up, ruining what little night vision she had. And unlike most humanoids, the holographic Jem'Hadar had no real minds to detect, so she would have to keep alert for them the old-fashioned way.

She took a few tentative steps out from the wall, keeping close to some large square containers that sat off to her right. She stepped lightly, all senses keyed up to detect any sign of movement.

Iniara stopped at the edge of the row of containers, checking her progress with the beacon. To her annoyance it now seemed to be further away: before it had been hovering squarely in front of the main cargo bay doors, now it seemed to be taunting her from the far left corner of the room. It would probably keep moving away from her as long as she stalked it in this manner, which left her with one other option.

With barely a second thought, she shot out from the relative safety of the containers, sprinting towards the beacon. It would only take her a few seconds to cross the open room; with luck nothing would happen to slow her down.

A split second after she began her flight the cargo bay lights surged on, causing temporary blindness. Her determination fueling her, Iniara kept her pace without flinching, and so she was almost on top of the first Jem'Hadar when her eyes finally adjusted to the lights.

The soldier, armed with a machete identical to hers, lunged at Iniara while slashing down with his weapon. Iniara dodged left and narrowly avoided the blade, before slamming into her opponent with her right shoulder and using the force of her body to push her weapon deep into his abdomen while pushing his bulk out of her way.

She barely had time to withdraw the machete before the second soldier attacked. This one sliced horizontally towards her neck, a move she quickly blocked with her own weapon. The impact made a loud, echoing clang and sent a jarring vibration down Iniara's arm. She stepped back, swapping the machete to her other hand and crouching down as the Jem'Hadar tried a second attack, lunging towards her with his blade pointed straight at her throat. Adrenaline now surging through her body, Iniara planted two hands on his torso, using his momentum to carry him above her head, into the air and back to the ground near where the first soldier had landed.

Not too difficult, she mused as she grabbed a second weapon and resumed her sprint towards the beacon, which was now less than 15 meters away. Like an insane red beach ball the beacon began to dance away, but at this pace she would eventually catch it.

That is, if there hadn't been any more Jem'Hadar in the vicinity.

Less than ten meters from the beacon, Iniara felt something pass close to her left cheek, too close for comfort. She glanced over her shoulder to see another Jem'Hadar running after her, his arm extended forward from having thrown his own weapon at her. Iniara turned back towards her goal and barely had time to notice the machete embedded in the beacon before she was knocked completely off her path.

A fourth unarmed soldier tackled her from the side, grasping her around the waist and landing heavily on top of her as they both hit the ground, weapons clattering to either side. Iniara's back cried out in protest and she inhaled raggedly, lungs fighting to regain some of the air that had been forced out from the impact. The soldier released her waist, rising up just enough to deliver a hard blow to the side of her face. Iniara tried dodging to no avail, and took the brunt of the impact right on her cheekbone. Stars exploded in her vision as she began to spit curses at her assailant.

Reeling from the blow, Iniara felt around on the ground for a nearby weapon, in the process taking a solid punch to the gut. Her hands found one of the machetes just as the soldier reared back for a third blow. She slashed wildly at the Jem'Hadar, somehow managing to open a deep gash in his throat. Dark blood spilled out of the wound, quickly mixing with the milky ketracel white from the now severed feeder tube. Alarmed, the soldier grabbed at his throat, giving Iniara enough of an opportunity to kick him over and almost get to her feet.

Barely reoriented, Iniara was tackled from behind by the Jem'Hadar who had thrown his weapon moments before. She fell forward, skidding along the slick floor towards the beacon, now barely two meters from it. She picked herself up off the ground, her sole objective now being to close the gap and get hold of that cursed thing.

Iniara stepped forward, reaching her hand out to grasp the beacon when a sudden flare of pain exploded in her sternum and spread throughout her body. Shocked, she looked down to find a good length of steel machete poking out of her chest, courtesy of the neglected Jem'Hadar behind her. She staggered forward a few steps, mind reeling in disbelief, and fell forward into the glowing light of the mischievous red beacon, dragging it down with her. A moment later everything went black.

-------------------------

[Mission accomplished.]

The perpetually congenial computer voice brought Iniara back to her senses. She opened her eyes, only to come face to face with the glossy black floor of the holodeck. Rolling over to her back she sat up, grimacing in pain as she rubbed the spot on her chest where the holographic blade had been just moments before. That was the problem with pushing the holodeck's safety settings to their lowest allowed level: it gave the user maximum realism without the nasty side-effect of death, but if you weren't careful you would definitely feel it in the morning.

"Computer, display results." A translucent screen appeared in front of Iniara, who at the moment was content to remain seated on the holodeck floor.

PROGRAM: TARIN ROULETTE

RESULTS

RUN KILLS/ENCOUNTERS INJURIES TIME OVERALL

06 7/12 5 0:13:40 72%

[SHORT DISPLAY] FULL DISPLAY

EVALUATION?

The last word pulsed slowly at the bottom of the screen. Iniara stretched one arm out, poking it.

[Processing evaluation. Knowledge of Galaxy Class decks eighteen through twenty two lacking. Average performance with weapon. Suggest further practice with close-range weapons and study of Galaxy schematics.]

Iniara rolled her eyes. She had set the program to choose a random weapon to increase the challenge, but she hadn't expected such a crude weapon. Her talents were primarily in energy or projectile based weapons: phasers, rifles, shotguns, all the way down to basic crossbows or even slingshots, and she was better in close quarters without a weapon than with one. Close-range weapons were definitely a weak spot. Maybe she would have to take the computer's suggestion and get some more practice.

[Never turn your back on a Jem'Hadar warrior.]

That much she should have known, and she silently reprimanded herself for allowing that last one to get the best of her. "Thank you, computer," she replied sarcastically, getting to her feet. The translucent screen followed her up, staying at eye level.

[Gratitude is not required.]

Iniara snorted. "Save results, reset simulation. Display program parameters." A moment later the text on the screen disappeared, to be replaced by several sets of options.

PROGRAM: TARIN ROULETTE

PARAMETERS

LOCATION ENEMY WEAPON ENEMY WEAPON

DS9 CARDASSIAN CLOSE RANGE CLOSE RANGE

[GALAXY] CHANGELING ENERGY ENERGY

INTREPID HIROGEN PROJECTILE PROJECTILE

RISA [JEM'HADAR] [RANDOM] RANDOM

STARBASE KLINGON NONE [SAME]

DIFFICULTY 7

BEGIN?

Iniara scanned the options, mostly satisfied with their current configuration. She paused, cocking her head to one side, then switched the enemy weapon option from SAME to RANDOM. In response, the difficulty rating clicked from 7 up to 8. She shrugged to herself, then poked the blinking BEGIN? at the bottom of the screen.

The room went black and another screen, similar to the program's control screen but much smaller, appeared in front of her. The screen stated plainly her next destination: BATTLE BRIDGE. Iniara tapped the screen in acknowledgement, causing it to dematerialize. Seconds later a circular metal pan with a wooden handle, no more than a foot in length, appeared on the ground at her feet. She groaned; apparently the computer thought it was being funny by giving her a frying pan as a weapon.

The simulation began once more, the Galaxy's familiar walls coming into existence with the familiar red alert lights beginning shortly after. As she moved off, Iniara hoped that this round of Jem'Hadar opponents would be equipped with drinking straws or plastic martini swords.

Kat Andrews - sundancekat@mossgreen.net

Ensign Tarin Iniara,
Operations Officer
USS Galaxy

"Dinner and some qaraDa gham"

Arel Smith
Mike O'Neil

*****

Arel scowled out at the bits of space that weren't blocked by either the Breen ships or the USS Galaxy and then took another sip of her grapefruit juice.

After several days of taking her meals in her quarters, Arel had said several Klingon words on the matter and had decided to come to the Cantina. Not that she really wanted company but the walls of her quarters were starting to feel a bit cramped.

She was getting the strongest urge to start buying things to spruce the place up a bit.

Damn hormones.

"Zaphod," Arel called out to the bartender, raising her glass. "Another. And fill it all the way this time."

She looked over at the man nearby her again, annoyed that her attention was drawn to him. There was something about the guy that just seemed familiar to her, and it was irritating. Arel finally gave in and gave the newcomer a steely glare. "Do I know you?"

The human male looked up from his meal, a piece of tlhImaqaH in hand. As he sat there just then, clad in his duty uniform with its grey shoulders and gold collar, he could have been anyone aboard, passed for any number of human enlisted men. It wasn't his appearance that set him apart, though. It was something in his eyes, something in the set of his broad shoulders - A certain absolute confidence that never left him, whether he was battling phantom warriors on the holodeck, or a faulty ODN shunt on Deck Thirteen, a sense that harkened back to the rough men of Qo'nos. The corner of Mike's mouth quirked upwards in a slight grin.

"No." he answered simply. "You don't. I'm Petty Officer Second Class Mike O'Neil. You're the security officer, aren't you? Commander... Smith, right?" Onboard a ship, everyone knew the senior staff. It was a simple matter of survival, knowing who was in charge of what. The enlisted men were supposed to know the top officers. It didn't work both ways, though - There was no practical way it could. Therewere over fifteen hundred officers and enlisted aboard the Miranda. Nobody could be expected to know them all, especially if they weren't in their department.

"Yeah." Arel said and then turned her attention back to her drink. As far as Klingon food went, tlhImaqaH wasn't that bad but she still wasn't very fond of the smell. Maybe because Kern always had to eat it at every meal. She suddenly missed her old friend very much. Well, maybe not so suddenly.

Mike was much the same way. He loved tlhImaqaH, and while he wasn't quite so bad as to eat it with every meal, he always had it with qaraDa gham. It was like having a hamburger and fries to him. One simply went with another. Having something else would just be strange - Though most would say that having a strawberry shake with something that looked like octopus legs pretty much put him overthat line anyway. "Care to join me?" he asked. "No one else will, and I prefer not to eat alone."

Arel shrugged. "Why not?" She moved over and sat across from him. And then couldnt help but scowl down at his food. She leveled a look at him and then quickly flicked out one of her hidden knives and speared one of his tlhImaqaH. Arel took a bite and frowned at the taste. "Not prepared right. Half skinned. Tastes better warmed."

"What do you really expect from a Federation replicator?" Mike grinned broadly. Raising both hands, he held them up for her, palms out, then turned them around to show her the backs, his sleeves sliding down slightly as he did. Then, slowly, he tapped the insides of his forearms against the edge of the table - Making a dull thunk. Tugging down his left sleeve, he let her see the open hilt of a small throwing knife of Andorian manufacture. "Out of the past four ships I served on, three have been boarded in combat - Two by the Jem'Hadar, and one by the Borg. They're insurance." he explained. "If you can guess where the phaser is hidden, I'll let you have my dessert."

Arel cracked a smile. "Given your food preferences, I think I'll pass. What kind of phaser is it?"

"Type I Hand Phaser." he answered. "The small one we use for away missions when we don't want to show off our weapons."

"Hidden pocket in your pants." Arel guessed.

Mike shook his head. "Nope. The first place people look when they search you is in your pants. I'm a little more creative than that." Leaning forward, he reached up and fished the tiny little so-called "cricket phaser" from the special pocket he'd sewn in under the collar of his uniform tunic in the back, using the thick gray fabric to hide it from a physical search. "Too bad... I was thinking of having strawberry cheescake for dessert, Commander." Mike took a big bite out of the octopus-like leg he was having for dinner.

"An odd follow up to qaraDa gham" Arel told him. Though she was one to talk. As a teenager, she had forced herself to eat the minimum amount of Klingon meals and then had often snuck into her room for freeze dried food or sometimes into town for the food vendors. She'd never met a human who had a good eye for Klingon food before.

"You're an interesting person, Petty Officer Second Class Mike O'Neil." She decided.

Mike grinned, bearing his teeth in that predatory grin that was mostly the province of Klingon warriors. Reaching back with both hands, he snagged the pocket with an ever-so-slightly longer than regulation fingernail and pulled it out to slip the phaser back in. "I certainly do my best, Commander." he joked. "Though I do think some of my crewmates might substitute the words "insane" or "crazy" for interesting. You'd think with a mandate to explore the galaxy that Starfleet officers would be more open-minded about qaraDa gham... And qagh! Do you know how hard it is to get good qagh on a starship?"

"About as hard as getting a decent jug of bloodwine."

Mike leaned forward conspiratorially. "I know an Orion merchant who's willing to supply me with qagh on our next stop-over. All I have to do is name the base, pony up the latinum, and it's mine...And I'm talking any kind of qagh. Torghud qagh, mIcha' qagh, etlhul qagh with the little feet... Even wIStng qagh packed in fresh targ's blood, and he'll get it to me fresh! The problem is he only deals in bulk units, and even if I eat it morning, noon, and night I can't eat that much qagh before it goes bad and dies. You'd think someone on the crew would be adventurous enough to try, but no!" He slapped the table, less out of anger and more out of sheer boistrous, good natured enthusiasm. He was simply getting into a story he enjoyed telling. "Not a one. How about you, Commander? Would you fancy splitting a bulk unit of wIStng qagh with me? We can go fifty/fiftyon it and it won't go to waste."

Arel grinned. The man was reminding her more and more of her old friend with his enthusiasm for food. "Klingon cuisine has never sat well with my stomach. We're more acquantainces than anything else. But you find me some decent bloodwine and I'll go in with you. I'll have cause to celebrate in a few months and, who knows, I might start craving gagh soon as well."

Mike laughed, a warm, deep sound that boiled up from somewhere inside him. "Then I have you." he laughed. "I have you now. Commander, if you look on the cargo manifest under O'Neil, Michael J. Cargo Code 226-B you'll find an entry for Consumables - Ethnic, Alcoholic. When I left Borath, I made sure to lay in a stock, and I've brought it with me from post to post. I'm down to a case and a half - Thirty six bottles, but I still have it. Bloodwine... 2309. There IS no finer vintage!" he declared proudly. "How would you like half a case for your celebration?"

She laughed and then reached out to grasp his arm in a shake. "Deal." She smiled again, which felt odd to her since she couldnt remember the last time she had smiled, and then stole another piece of his tlhImaqaH. Yup, she must have been missing Qo'nos more than she thought. "So you come from Borath?"

Mike shook his head, absentmindedly pushing the bowl of tlhImaqaH closer to the middle of the table so they could share it better. "No. I come from Montreal, a city on Earth's North American continent." he answered. "I spent a little over a year and a half in the monestary on Borath, though. I needed to find myself. I traveled to Bajor, Vulcan, Andor... I even went to Ferenginar in search of answers, but Borath..." Mike took a sip of his milkshake. "Borath is where I found them. It's where I found myself."

"Lucky you." Arel replied. "I grew up on Qo'nos and I still havent found myself."

"Not especially lucky. It was a long trip, and by the time I arrived on Borath, I was out of latinum, out of things to sell, and out of luck. By that point, I was selling my services as an engineer in exchange for passage on starships headed... Well, anywhere. I'd become an interstellar hitchhiker without direction or purpose. I went into the monestary on Borath because they were the only ones who would hire me on, and I wasn't ready to go back to the Federation yet." he explained. "You never find yourself where you think you'll be. In fact, you never find yourself. Instead, you're the one who gets found." He took a long sip on his milkshake. "One of the monks told me that, and to tell the truth, the last part still doesn't make sense to me, but the first part... You won't find yourself where you think you will. Meaning always comes from the places you least expect it."

"Wow," Arel said dryly. "That's the kind of saying they should tattoo on someone's ass."

Mike chuckled. "Yeah, I know. Real fortune cookie stuff, that one. What do you expect from monks?"

"Indeed." She took another look at his plate and realized the octopus looking thing, what he hadn't eaten anyway, was starting to look good. Arel shook her head. Damn hormones.

"It was a pleasure to meet you, Mike O'Neil." Arel said. "I'm going to get going now before the baby starts demanding some of your qaraDa gham."

"The pleasure was all mine, Commander." he replied, rising to his feet. "I'm just glad to see someone on the crew has the stomach for a good plate of serpent worms. I'll send a message to my contact with the next batch of personal transmissions, and he'll have it ready for us by the time we reach Starbase. One bulk unit of wIStng qagh sound okay to you? It's my personal favourite."

Arel nodded. "Agreed."

Lieutenant Commander Ethan Suder
Chief Engineer

The silence in Ethan's quarters was the just another reminder of how things seemed to be steadily falling apart. The news just kept getting worse. Each day seemed to bring another dark cloud that would happily sit over his head and rain on him all day. Despite this, he tried his best to show the positive and motivated side of himself. The fun side, if there were such a thing.

Glancing over to his desk, he sighed and frowned at the data padd that sat squarely in the middle of his desk. The duty roster awaited his attention. He would have to get round to it sooner or later, but something in his mind kept telling him to take some time off, relax, or at least try to. Walk around the ship, read a book, go to the holodeck, anything.

Re-assigning the shifts was a slight pain with the illness of Dhani. She was good at her job sure, but changing people's shifts patterns didn't always go down well. Not that anybody ever approached him about it. But things had gone downhill since then.

The departure of Michael McDowell was a hard event. His closest and best friend, the only living person who knew him better than anyone, had left the ship. His plans on trying to get Michael promoted to Join-Assistant Chief had gone out the airlock. Sure they'd stay in touch via sub-space, nonetheless, Ethan was another man down. It wouldn't be impossible to replace the Engineer, sure they'd get some new kid in who thought the world of him or her self, but no one would be able to replace Michael. Nor would they ever try, Ethan thought.

Things hadn't seemed all that different in general. But no longer could they discuss the days events and problems over a drink, or go down to the holodeck and just have some relaxing fun, or talk about Karyn or anything like that. Ethan wouldn't be able to play on Michael's paranoid imagination anymore, there would be no more jokes.... except via subspace.

And to make things worse, taking the Galaxy into Breen space was just hitting the iceberg at full speed. Ethan's mind was full of doubt. These are the people that they were at war with after all. Sure the Dominion was involved, but their all the way over in the Gamma Quadrant, so not much of a problem. And what about the Cardassians? At least they managed to grow a backbone and help out towards the end of the Dominion war. He had a lot more respect for them than the Breen. Cardassia had done a good job thus far of rebuilding itself. But the Breen, they just huddled away back into their own space as if nothing had ever happened. If they were that interested in peace talks, then why not meet at a neutral point in space, or within the Federation itself. Think about the logic, the Federation stood for peace, the Breen stood for fridge men who had a habbit of shooting at people. Not warp science, but clearly someone sat behind a desk didn't have his- Ethan stopped his mind for a moment. The man behind the desk. Price. What a Captain he had been. He wouldn't mind one day catching up with him, even after the distasters he had thrown into Ethan's life. But that would happen sooner or later. But why would Price order such a thing?

Ethan sighed again with frustration. The duty roster could wait, he wanted to relax first. Not that it was going to happen, but it was worth a try.

His thoughts once again went to the man down. Michael. He just hoped that he managed to get his problems sorted out and maybe return to the Galaxy. Or maybe he'd get a position as Chief somewhere else. Either way, Ethan sent his best wishes.

TBC

note about Michaels departure, dreams and the thoughts of going into Breen space for diplomatic reasons, yeah right!

Note how he stills holds no respect for them due to the war, at least the Cardassians finally found the spine they needed to step up to the Dominion and Breen. They had done a good job of rebuilding Cardassia, but what remained of the mysterious Breen???

Can't sleep, so go walk throughout the ship, go round fixing things that haven't been gotten round to yet.

"Dinner with whine...I mean wine."

Cole
Arel

*****

He was sitting at one of the tables in the mess, it was a stones throw from where he had his last meal, hell anything was better than a five-by-five cell and that god awful humming that came from the force field. Kept him awake all through the night. He lifted his whisky taking a sip of the single malt, he had several bottles hidden within his quarters, one of those was standing on the surface of the table. “1910...” Cole whispered licking his lips. “An excellent year...”

It was an acquired taste, it was one of those things that people either hated or loved, everyone had a malt that was right for them, it was just finding it. Cole was one of the luckier, he loved whisky full stop. Didn’t matter what make or year. It was the same with Blood Wine. He still remembered the first time he drank that, blew his mind clear from his head and had to wait three days before it retuned sufficiently enough to communicate, he had to wait another day before he could walk or rather stumble out of his friends house.

“What a night...” he said with a smile leaning back against his chair. It was then he saw her, a security officer and by the pips on her shoulder she was high up, possibly even the assistant chief or the chief herself? He shook his head, he’d heard she was a looker, but damn!

“Hello...” Cole said with a warm smile rising up as she passed close to his table. “Care you join me for a glass?” He picked up the bottle nodding at it.

"No." Arel said without pause as she passed his table. She sat down a few tables away, ordered a drink, and then started reading her computer PADD. She justified reading a story in public because it was about a prison break. It just had to be educational information, Arel rationalized.

Besides, she needed to relax.

He tooked up at the ceiling for a moment as if looking for inspiriation, when it didn't come he grabbed the glass and headed over to her table sitting down without an invitation. "Well good, more for me..." he said with a smile filling his glass half full before putting the bottle in front of him.

She might have been nicer if she weren't coming off a long shift, all throughout which it had been hinted that she shouldnt' go down to Breen. She probably would have even been cranky to the interesting human she'd met the other day who liked Klingon food and wanted to be a Borath monk but then again she wasn't so sure. "You always this cheerful?"

"You always such a bitch?" he asked raising his eyebrow with a slight wink and grin. "I generally try and keep a smile, though there are times when I frown, not very often I grant you but it happens. think the lat time hell froze over... Been getting calls ever since about that red devil complaining, you know he whines like an old lady?" he chuckled taking another sip of his drink.

Arel set down her PADD and raised her eyebrow. She wanted to say something threatening and rude but she really, for the life of her, couldn't think of a response to that.

"You got a name, Sunshine?" Arel asked with a frown.

"Cole..." he said with quick bow of the head taking another sip from his glass.

"Arel Smith." She said. "Now shut up and let me read in peace."

His eyes continued staring at her like they could see through the PADD she was reading, she had issues there was no denying it. ~A challenge?~ he thought to himself though for the life of him he didn't know why he thought it in a French accent. "What you reading?" he asked leaning back on his chair relaxing into the frame of the chair.

"Security report." Arel lied unconvincingly.

He looked at her with an eyebrow raised. "For a security chief you've got a lot to learn about telling porkies," he said using a human expression which he sometimes came up with.

"A novel about this guy who's been incarcerated for twenty years or so." She admitted grudgingly. "I want to see how he gets out but I havent gotten that far yet. Its strictly educational reading."

"Nothing like a good book..." he said with a nodding as if to emphasize the point. "Personally I prefer fantasy books, can't get enough of them... that and how they saw the future, the way humans write is quite impressive, though Klingons do have a certain flare for battles."

Her interest was piqued but she couldn't admit to being an avid book reader. Her image was bad enough lately. "Klingons do write very good battle scenes. I hear that Andorians do as well."

He nodded slightly waving his hand in the air. "Andorians aren't bad, but they're not good. Perhaps its that blood-lust they get when they fight, or just the blood-wine... they have something that makes you believe, that makes you want to be there in the battle to feel what they feel." He shrugged. He'd a great part of his life with Klingons living on Qu'Nos, they were a complicated people, not as complicated as humans, that was an impossibility, but they had their moments.

"If I were to read a lot, which I don't mind you," Arel interrupted herself sternly. "then I think that I would choose mythology and folklore as my favorite things to read."

"Mythology..." he said with nod rubbing his chin as he thought. "Interesting... which are your favourate?" he asked looked through the almost empty glass at Arel who was still pretending to read the PADD in front of her.

*I* don't read. I just said if I were to read..." Arel said and pushed a random button on the computer. "Oh, I don't know. Probably Greek, Norse, Aztec, Klingon, Vulcan, Bajoran, and Trill."

"Norse...? Vulcan, who can you put them in the same category, let alone sentence, as the rest? They're crap!" he cursed shaking his head in dismay.

"How can you say that?!" Arel exclaimed. "Those are the best bloody stories. My father used to..." She glared at the man's smile. Dirty rotten trick, Arel thought.

"I'm surprised you could stop goggling at me long enough to form coherent sentances." Arel said testily.

"Its a gift..." he said flatly. "You know doing two things at once, I know women have trouble doing it... speaking with someone and looking at them... at the same time..." He'd always classed sarcasm as the weakest form of wit, but there were times it slipped through. This was one. "If you don't want people staring at you, you shouldnt be so beautiful, or you should join a monastary and life in solitude."

Arel blinked at the last bit, which halted the nasty things was going to say to him. That was the last thing she expected to hear today, not when she felt like she had just been dredged through...well, just not looking pretty. She turned it around in her head, tried to see if there was some underlying jab, and then shrugged it off.

But a monestary? Puh-lease, as Sam would say. Arel rolled her eyes.

She was a tough nut to crack, no wonder people stayed as far as a ten-foot barge pole from her, it was one of the things that attracted him to her, like moth to a flame, a signal beacon calling a ship into harbour. "What did your father do again...? I didn't quite catch it..."

"Because I didn't tell you." Arel replied and then shrugged. "He's a historian. Specializes in Klingons."

"Oh... that 'Smith'," he said with nodded draining the last of the whiskey from his glass. "Nice bloke, a bit too focussed on his work for my tastes, but then suppose you'd have to be dealing with Klingons." He smiled shaking his head remembering the good old times, the bar fights, the duel fighting, the phaser gunfights. ~Paradise~

Arel almost choked on her drink. "*You* know my father?"

Cole nodded as recalled the first time he'd met him. "I met him, its quite hard to miss the only human in a hall full of klingons. To say it was shock would have been an understatement, since there weren't any other 'friendly' faces around we hit it off, though I'm sure if it were anywhere else we'd have walked right by each other without a second glance." He chuckled remembering how many bottles of blood-wine they ended going through. "That was a night to remember, I introduced him to one of my favourate drinks. Blood-Wine... I'm not sure if he ever thanked me or not..."

"It really is a small universe." Arel spat out. Who knows when her father had been drinking with this man. Probably when Arel thought he was dead.

His eyes squinted slightly as she spat the words out, almost like they were a bad taste in her mouth, it was a response he wasn't expecting. "Your not on the best of terms I take it..." he waved his hand. "You don't have to answer... just take a little advice. Don't waste the time you have, he won't be around forever and you'll regret every day when he's gone."

Arel forced a laugh. "I've already been down that path."

Cole nodded knowing what it was like to split away from family, he'd done it himself. It ate at him daily, that's one of the reasons he joined up entering Starfleet. He knew his father saw him, as did his mother, he just hoped they were proud.

"It's a long story. Anyway, we're on better terms than we used to be." She continued. Which was more than she could say for some people.

"I'm glad..." he said. "There's a human saying I remember though I can't recall where I heard it. 'Nothing counts more than blood, everyone else are just strangers.'"

"We have, I mean there are similar sayings on Qo'nos. I...appologize if I was overly rude before." Arel told him.

"No need," he said waving his hand dismissing the notion. "Let's start a new..." he said pouring a small amount of whiskey into the glass before sliding it over to Arel. "With a drink... to friendship... and family..."

She shook her head. "I can't drink alcohol with the baby."

He smiled, his eyes glancing down to her stomach for the briefest of moments. "Baby? Congratulations..." he picked up the glass lifting it up into the air before downing the whiskey. "Fine with me, you talk I drink." He couldn't help but laugh, he didn't know why it was funny, but damned if he could stop.

"What's so funny, Sparky?" Arel asked, instatnly suspicious.

He shook his head shrugging. "I haven't a scooby..." he said with a slight snigger before shaking his head trying to clear his head, he'd been drinking since three, looking at his clock that was some four hours ago. "I'll try my best and refrain from laughing in your presence, I wouldn't want you to crack a smile or... I sudder to think... laugh. Can I ask you a personal question?" he didn't give her the chance to say yes, or no. "Why are you so uptight? You're wound like a coiled spring which is about to snap."

"Must be the company." Arel said acidly. She didn't like the way this conversation was turning. And there was an easy way to solve that.

"Really..."

"You want an answer. Go listen to the rumor mill. I got better things to do." Arel snapped, standing up. "I'll let Father know you're around. And dont get too drunk there, Sparky. I wouldnt want to haul your ass into the Brig."

"No I suppose you wouldn't..." The sarcasm was thick in his voice as he took another drink, his eyes never leaving hers.

Arel shot him a look and then left.

"Hazard Team Galaxy: The Tryouts"

Lt. Cmdr James Corgan
Lt. JG Claire Barnes
Ensign Zeke Wikkens
Ensign Paulo DiMillo
Ensign Tarin Iniara
Attache Nyssa Alvarez
Pilot Voss 'Prophet' Ferris
Lt. JG Chase Remur

NPC's:

Ensign Chet Caldwell (Engineering)
Lt. JG T'lan (Security)
Lt. JG Shelly O'Rourke (Security)
Ensign Jeremy Showers (Ops)
Lt. JG Walter Marsh (Security)

***Location: Holodeck 1***

As promised, the Hazard Team tryouts (complete with warnings of how tough the trial would be) were held on time. 18:00 hours, holodeck 1.

Yes, the big holodeck.

The one with extra capacity for over twenty people.

Much like the group that was gathered today.

So under the black and yellow grid, officers of various calibers stood at ramrod attention, waiting in awkward silence for the taskmaster to arrive. That taskmaster was Lieutenant Commander James Corgan, more known for his eccentricities (such as post traumatic stress disorder, alien fetishes, a dark and sometimes tactless sense of humor, and an exasperated sarcasm that could be registered by all except Vulcans). Nobody figured out, not even by checking out his career background, how he qualified to lead and create a team of commandoes.

(Starfleet conveniently sealed many war records, including where they stuffed psychologically disturbed soldiers when treatment wasn't effective.)

But for now, a seemingly sane Lieutenant Commander Corgan was the chief of security, and therefore the most qualified on the Galaxy to form a Hazard Team, be it as it may. This left the recruits somewhat skeptical, and most definitely curious as to how their strange Security Chief was going to lead this endeavor.

Voss was a little less clear about why he was here. He had heard about the tryouts while in the Vanguard's pilot's lounge, and hadn't really given it a second thought until he found himself sending a request to be added to the tryouts roster a few days later.

Looking around the room, Claire examined the other candidates, sizing them up. Even though she was one of the newest crewmembers, when she had heard about this, she just knew that she had to try out for it. Hell, it sounded like it was going be difficult, but she was up for the challenge. After some of the stuff she had been dragged into aboard the Vic and then the forced desk duty, this would be a great change.

He wasn't unhappy as a member of the Vanguards, but there was something about the Hazard Team duty that drew him in...It could very well be a horrible mistake on his part.

Paulo just stood there and looked at the other people around. The team would need an intelligence officer of some kind, and it was so nice for him to get voted to be it. He would do his best and make the team. Not just for his department, but now for himself as well.

Chase Remur was probably the skinniest of the candidates, and could have used a little more muscle on her tiny frame. However, she was feeling relatively confident, as she filled a very specialized position on the Galaxy, and hopefully soon it's Rapid Response Unit. Officially, she was the Tactical Department's Chief Computer Specialist. Unofficially, she was the best hacker that the USS Galaxy had to offer. It didn't hurt that she kept up on her Aikido as well. Looking around, she was pleased to see a diverse group of candidates. 'Commander Corgan would be able to put together a good, and more importantly, varied group.

Ensign Tarin had taken up a position near the end of the line of recruits, sizing up each one with a quick glance. Mostly Terran, a Vulcan, and even a semi-cute Bajoran who was probably much younger than her, she figured. Still didn't hurt to look.

Rather than attempting small-talk she had instead remained silent and unmoving while they waited, her stone cold expression covering the excitement contained within. After only a couple days aboard, she had already been given the opportunity to prove herself to some of her new crewmates, trying out for a unit that could take her away from the desk job and back to her roots. Maybe she would succeed in earning a place in this elite group.

O'Rourke was at her most nervous. The security officer and former lawyer wanted nothing to do with Hazard Team, yet she found herself in their tryouts nonetheless. While she lamented T'lan's convincing arguments for her to try it out, she took a look at the people who were there.

Big beefy meat trucks. Wikkens was in the crowd. Heck, he was most of the crowd!

Crazed war specialists were there as well, as represented by Lieutenant Marsh. Besides the creepy hunter Krieghoff and Commander Corgan, Marsh was one of the most experienced in combat.

The geniuses and brain trusts. T'lan was with her. There was a pilot somewhere in the mix, and a diplomat. What was a diplomat doing here?

O'Rourke looked to her right, and saw Marsh. "Long time no see, Lieutenant." She kindly greeted.

"Yeah." Marsh rasped, keeping his statement brief, "Long time."

"So..." She trailed, cloyingly curious, "Where have you been?"

Marsh answered, "Vacation."

O'Rourke tried to conjure up vacation according to Lieutenant Marsh. As far as Shelly knew, Marsh was a combat expert, a ground pounder, a gun nut and an aficionado of survival rations. The only image she could imagine was Marsh, swimming eye deep inside a vermin infested swamp somewhere in the Hellsing sector, with a knife in his mouth and a dead possum in his hands, meant to be the night's dinner.

It was an image she shuttered at, and dismissed out of discomfort.

"T'lan, why did you drag me here?" Lieutenant JG O'Rourke whispered to her best friend, a Vulcan security officer with no expression on her flaccid face, "The Boss is trying something crazy again. Can't we give this up?"

T'lan glanced at her more emotional comrade, and murmured, "The Hazard Team piqued my curiosity. Therefore, I will try to qualify. This is as logical an explanation as I can muster."

O'Rourke shot back, "You're not the most logical Vulcan I know.'

To that, T'lan replied, "To know and judge the grade of one's logic, you must become a logical person yourself."

"Hey, what do you mean by..."

The opening of the holodeck's doors prompted everyone's attention. Those not standing straight (as requested at the door by a sign when they walked in) snapped to attention, saluting as if it was to be their last. On cue, T'lan and O'Rourke also saluted, though O'Rourke was slower to react. Everybody in the group followed with their eyes, though not their heads (it would be out of formation).

*Clack Clack*. Polished and freshly replicated uniform shoes struck rhythmically on the black and yellow grid floor. The swish of Starfleet standard issue cloth was the only other sound, besides nervous breathing from the candidates. Still, silent, tense. That was the atmosphere in the holodeck. It was the type of atmosphere James Corgan liked.

Authoritative, stern, letting everyone know who was the boss not by his words, but his actions. He tried to radiate calm within himself while fooling others into sweating phaser power packs. After all, he was the judge, the instructor, and the master from this point until the end of their training... and for some unfortunate ones, maybe a little longer.

James smirked behind the brackish tint of aviator glasses. Nobody saw his eyes. Nobody could read the anything on him beyond that smirk. He was an oasis of calm.

"Good day, ladies and gentlemen." He tried his best to emulate the stereotypes of every academy drill officer, marine sergeant, and squad leader he had encountered. His voice, though loud and booming, was unpracticed (he spoke softly and always acted polite, making the role of a high ranking prick a hard one to pull off). His swagger was slightly exaggerated. His footsteps were right though. Slow and pondering, and his head movement (the only way to tell that he was giving every candidate a visual scan piercing enough to gain readings from an irradiated cargo hold in the center of a ship) drifting like a camera drone.

Not everyone was ready. James needed to cut down the field significantly. He didn't expect that many volunteers, though his expectations of how many would actually pass without making an embarrassment to themselves was quite realistic.

~"Note to self... beg BUPERS to send us some specialists."~ James sighed. The volunteers would have to do.

He started off, loud for everyone to hear, more so when the lack of photonic light and forcefields didn't break up echoes, "Good day, and welcome to the first ever USS Galaxy Hazard Team trials. I am Lieutenant Commander Corgan, chief of security and the man administering today's tests. In other words... I own you. Your ass..." James pointed an accusing finger at Ensign Wikkens, "Your ass..." Two sharp, rapid points at T'lan and O'Rourke, "the vet's asses..." His stare came down upon Lieutenant Marsh, "...the newbie's asses..." again at Wikkens, adding Lieutenant jg Barnes to his list, "...and everyone else's asses until the test is over. And for those lucky enough to pass... I'll still own your ass because it'll be training from there on in."

Claire didn't react as the Lt Cmdr gave a speech very similar in style to some of the stuff one of the Marine drill sergeants did in the Academy. She had faced down Klingons and Gorns, and wasn't going to crack.

Remur stood at attention. She'd hated combat basic, that was true, but she'd also gotten through it. And she'd seen her share of combat recently. Lieutenant Commander Corgan could have her ass. It would take more than the drill sergeant routine to shake her.

Iniara focused on the sound of Corgan's voice, almost to the exclusion of everything else around her. She had heard this speech before, many times, all throughout her adult life. She hoped Corgan wasn't bluffing, that this trial would be as difficult-- and exciting-- as his speech promised.

And while Voss had never really dealt with "drill sergeants", he had certainly faced more than his number of threatening Cardassians. He had long ago lost the capacity to be intimidated, along with a good number of his emotions. Instead, he simply waited at attention for the preliminaries to be over, and for the true test to begin.

~"Awww man... why am I here?"~ O'Rourke sighed, resigned to her fate.

"Remember our training in security?" James reminded mischievously, in which the security officers cringed, "Marine training. We all hate it. Designed specifically to torture and rebuild the sentient species' body. Well... that was nothing."

~"Awwww... nononono..."~ O'Rourke silently whimpered.

'That is what he thinks,' Paulo thought to himself.

"What we have today is the Hazard Team, which will officially be called the USS Galaxy Rapid Response Unit. A Hazard Team is supposed to consist of the best Starfleet has to offer. The best soldiers, engineers, flight officers, the works. We take those elements, and put them in a unit designed to respond to the most dangerous assignments we can get dragged into. Did I mention you have to be well trained? That's what we are going to find out today."

James sighed, taking a deep breath. He scanned the volunteers again, more of a tacit measure rather than judge their characters. "To be in this squad, you have to be the best. Hell, you have to be better than you have ever been before. You'll have to think, work, sweat, strain... and even bleed if you have to to pass this test. I don't want slackers, idiots, or weaklings on this squad. When I say the best, I f**king well mean it! If you can't hack it... no worries. Get better at what you need to get better at and try again. However, we have high requirements, and it won't be easy, and we'll make sure we drum out people who can't hack it."

"So, in conclusion, ladies and gentlemen, we will be taking a few exercises to test your physical performance, your familiarity with squad level tactics and the equipment required on this team, and your ability to use your brains to figure out surprising and difficult situations."

With a low growl, James added, "Remember, do your best. Don't f**k up. Do you understand me?!?!?!"

"SIR YES SIR!" The volunteers yelled out in unison.

"Good..." James paced back and forth, "I like that kind of spirit. I'll be on the observation deck, watching your performance. The first test will be in five minutes. At ease for now. It'll start before you know it." James then waved goodbye, and left in his slow, methodical steps to the observation deck.

Moving to the back of the hall, Claire stayed silent and watched. Since the test was going to start soon and she expected that it might be physical, she started doing some stretches.

Staying where she was, Chase stood quietly and observed the other candidates. She memorizing who was there and what they were good at, remembering Commander Henderson's suggestion when she'd mentioned that she was trying out. ~Know the ability of your enemies by assessment. Know the ability of your allies by heart.~

Iniara moved away from the others, keeping especially far from O'Rourke, who was really beginning to grate on her nerves. She began doing several stretches to loosen up her muscles, then jogged in place for a short time to get the blood flowing.

Voss maneuvered himself off to one side of the group, and took up a position where he could keep the entire party in view...

Paulo just stood there, not really moving. He would not show anything till he needed to. The one thing about being an Intelligence officer was that he was trained in stealth tactics, to get in and out, and that would be usful in any situation for this team.

*********************

Down below, James watched with a swelling of pride in his heart the various officers speculating, chatting, and worrying.

"Good." James smiled. The volunteers were better than he thought, though still not special forces.

But then again, that's how he wanted his new recruits. A fresh batch, innocent of what was going to begin. He wanted to make sure he could build the foundation needed for a Hazard Team member to survive, doubting that an Andorian Rangers officer could really understand the characteristics needed for a Hazard Team on a vessel as unique as the Galaxy.

In fact, James was looking forward to the test. He had plenty of time to do the Miranda's version (which he barely passed). It was the standard Hazard Team trial.

The difficulty was changing that trial slightly enough to make it challenging, yet different enough to discourage cheating from those who tried to 'cram'.

James activated the button, shifting the volunteers into their new environment.

"They won't be expecting this." James grinned, chortling amusingly.

****************

Black and yellow grid melted away, as a miraculous creation of a new environment was underway.

The floor underneath melded into rough, gray material, hard as stone and as worn and ugly as an Argavian rhino's ass. Raised sections of the same material in a lighter shade of gray lined the patches of rock, then stripes divided it as it seemed to form into a road.

Then buildings of brick and mortar sprang up from the Earth and concrete, creating dull read ziggurats of a dying, urban culture. What wasn't red brick was either gray from framing, weathered wooden boards creating the excuse of fencing, lurid designs in federation common that barely looked like written words (but were colored gaily, and obviously the work of someone skilled in art), or a patchy blue and gray sky. All of the area was worn down, and spread out with litter and aging, rust afflicted cars, all sitting unused.

"What... is this?" T'lan inquired.

O'Rourke rolled her eyes, "Shoot. The boss landed us in the twentieth century... looks like a city."

Voss actually sneered a little at the sight...or more accurately, at the Terran-centric choice of recreating an Earth city. As for the squalor, he had seen worse...

The holocharacters started to appear at this point. New life was created. Odd life. Life in shoddy, twentieth century clothes. Life brandishing switchblades in the pockets of their overtly showy leather clothing and death metal t-shirts. Life hiding death stares behind cheap sunglasses. Life not liking the twenty fourth century's sudden and unwelcome intrusion.

Not one holodezien moved against the volunteers, but did watch on.

Then, a voice from the heavens, loud and clarion like was its call. "You will run down this street, and try to make it to the objective, a drive in theatre that is close to here. You have thirty minutes to make it. Use whatever means are available. Good luck. Corgan out."

Voss looked around at his fellow officers, specifically at the Humans in the group. "What in the name of the Prophets is a 'drive in'?"

"An style theater that people would literaly drive their cars into, and sit in their cars for hours on end watching movies from them. Why anyone would do that, I don't know. I do know that if we had a drive in theater they would make five people sit in a type-9 shuttle for hours watching those movies." Paulo had answered the question, more or less, and he was serious about that. No wonder these things didn't exsist anymore.

"That's it? Easy!" O'Rourke cheered, "Come on! Lets do this!"

Claire groaned when she heard O'Rourke cheer. From what she had heard about Corgan, it was practically a certainty that there was going to be some sort of surprise ahead. A simple race was pointless. Looking around, she noted that there were a number of cars down the side of the street, most likely locked in this sort of area. Moving towards the side, Claire followed out with the others, but cautiously watching.

Chase suppressed a grin. There was obviously more to it, and she doubted that it was a few simple thugs. The Hazard Team, or at least what she'd heard about them, was supposed to be a hardcore group, able to handle anything. No, there was something happening that they didn't know about... yet.

Iniara continued to keep her distance from O'Rourke, not wanting to be near the other woman when the shit inevitably hit the fan. The scene looked vaguely familiar to her, almost like it was from some of those ancient Terran movies she had been fascinated with when she first came to Earth. She cut to the side, making her way down the jointed sidewalk between building walls and the occasional parked car, constantly checking the surrounding area for anything unusual. From what she had seen in a lot of those crude pictures, there was always a surprise waiting.

Slowly, but steadily, the Hazard Team volunteers jogged their way to the drive in theatre. It wasn't very far, matter of fact it was within their own visual range. Thirty minutes was easy for that kind of distance. Other than the holocharacters, the exercise was a snap.

"Have a safe journey." A crazy old man holding a whiskey bottle cheered. "But don't forget..."

"Awww.. shut up." An old lady passing by grumbled to the drunk.

Remur fell in next to one of the security officers and kept time with him. She was in better shape that she had been for a while, but she didn't have the pace training that the security people did. Working with Lieutenant' Marsh, she could keep up and reserve her energy, sticking to his pace.

Paulo kept a good speed going. He was close enough to the front that he could help with anything, if something came up, but far enough from the back not to look like he was falling back. He really didn't like to run this much, and damn, it was hell on his knees. He could already start to feel the pain shoot up from his knees. He knew he should had stopped at medical before coming down here.

Iniara stuck to the sidewalk, dodging uneven spots and various discarded items with ease. After a while she decided to pick up the pace a bit, still keeping her distance from the others.

"One two... one two..." O'Rourke chanted to herself, keeping her pace at a steady rhythm. The exercise was nothing compared to marine training. The thought occurred to her that Hazard Team was hype. Perhaps it was Corgan's practical joke. Or perhaps special forces was all hype. T'lan was right, O'Rourke could easily qualify. No, she could be the leader!

Feeling quite confident about herself, O'Rourke marched on...

Not noticing a rumble that T'lan had to tap her shoulder to point out.

O'Rourke and T'lan halted next to a puddle in a pothole. The water was filthy and rainbow colored, tainted with oil from the petrochemical burning cars parked on the street. The water wasn't the odd sight, but the rumbling and ripples inside.

Then the windows in the cars started to rattle.

"What the..." O'Rourke peeped.

She was cut short by the monstrous bellow of a shockingly tall creature.

*MMMMMMMMMRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRROOOOWWWWWWWWWWW!!!!*

Standing at a huge forty feet, and most likely weighting five to seven tones, a creature burst out of one of the brick and mortar buildings, throwing about red brick pieces and wooden debris all over the street behind the volunteers. The creature was bi-pedal and lizard like, with dun and orange scales decorated with jagged black stripes swathed horizontally along its back. The creature possessed long, agile, tree trunk legs and spindly, hooked arms. A broad sweeping tail struck and swatted cars aside like toys in a grumpy child's playroom, which was attached to barrelesque body that gulped in gargantuan volumes of air. The head was a fearsome sight, like a raptor or a lizard, long and angular, spying with globelike cat eyes, snorting hot, steamy breaths from its nostrils, and jutting bone dagger teeth stained with aged blood.

<RE: So, who's surprised?>

Claire stopped short suddenly. T-Rex's hadn't really been part of required Security or Engineering classes, but from stuff she learnt back in school, she knew that they could run very fast.

Iniara spun around towards the commotion behind her, instinctively taking shelter against the nearest large object. She examined the huge creature, trying to identify it, its strengths and weaknesses.

'It's big, bad and oogly. Sounds like an old girlfriend,' Paulo said to himself with a grin.

~Nice twist,~ Lieutenant' Remur thought as she sized up the beast, coming to the final conclusion that while it wasn't likely that they'd ever have to deal with a predator that massive, it was possible. Looking around, she watched people's reactions.

Voss had to admit he was impressed. He hadn't been expecting the prehistoric beast to make an appearance. Still, he began to backpedal away from the massive creature, putting the cars between himself and it.

"HOLY SHIT! THE BOSS SENT A T-REX AFTER US!" O'Rourke screamed.

"Logical course of action?" T'lan yelled back. O'Rourke didn't give any. She was already running to the theatre.

~T-Rex, that's it. Tyranno-something,~ Iniara thought, trying to identify the creature and its weaknesses. It was certainly too big to attack; maybe she could get away unnoticed.

When O'Rourke screamed, Claire quickly moved to the side away from her since she was making herself a big target.

Chase ignored O'Rourke, who in her mind was already dead, and reacted, scrambling off into an alley that went off to one side of the road. She motioned for Marsh to join her. The way she saw it, they had two options. Get around it or take it down. If it came to the second option, she wanted the war nut with her.

Marsh wasn't wasting time. The T-Rex brought on an instant reaction, and that was to head for cover! Marsh yanked Chase Remur by the arm, not giving his fellow officer a chance to react. Marsh threw Chase into the alley, then dived into a garbage dumpster, tunnelling into the filth to keep hidden.

"In here!" Marsh commanded, "The smell will kill our scent!"

<RE: Hey, you're in a pile of garbage with a survival expert whom doesn't seem to be 'all there'. Have fun!>

"Hmmmm...." Marsh said, his head popping out of the garbage. A banana peel slopped noisily off the side of his head. "T-Rex. Fast. Dumb. Hungry. Just like The Boss' warped sense of humour to send that thing.

Marsh watched the T-Rex stomp off, growling as it caught a volunteer by the pantleg, dragging the once male and brave human crying and screaming as he tried to claw at asphalt to keep from being eaten. "Well, whatever it is or will be, we're behind it. We have to find another way."

<RE: I dare you to check out what's on the other street. Ok... i'll tell you. It's another T-Rex. You're being run down the street. Try another street... another T-Rex.>

"Hmmmm... running of the bulls." Marsh snarled as the T-Rex on the other street clomped away. "Tried that once... and for twelve hours I had an extra orifice where my ass should have been."

<RE: Creepy! Ok... lets move on.>

While some volunteers tried to assess the situation, flee, or tried not to panic, the T'rex monster galloped on its muscled legs, striding much faster than any bipedal sentient in the holodeck. One such volunteer wasn't so lucky. Running fast, he tried to duck into an alley, but was plucked off the ground by the giant beast's teeth, tossed into the air, and deftly gulped down the creature's gullet like a piece of sushi.

Now seemed that there was not going to be enough time for everyone to make it.

****************

At the observation deck, James was enjoying the show.

"A variant on the old survive the hostile lifeform planet test. God I love it." He snickered, surveying the test while enjoying not being eaten... with a cup of coffee.

****************

Ducking over to the side away from where the dinosaur had taken someone, Claire examined one of the hub caps on a car. Pulling it off, she looked up and saw that it was 'busy' with screaming. Moving to the front of the car, she put the hubcap up to the window and with a hard bang with her elbow, she smashed the window in.

Reaching in, she popped the boot. Sneaking back to the boot, she opened it a bit and looked inside for a tire jack or something. Smiling when she found that the old carpet looked to be flammable, she found a small spare fuel can and screw driver. Opening it, she scrunched her nose as she smelt gasoline. Ripping a length off, she poured some fuel over it before making her way to the side of the car. Opening the gas tank cap, she stuffed the rag in with the screwdriver and by scrapping the hub cap on the concrete, she ignited the rag. Moving quickly further down along the side of the cars as quick as she could, she heard a massive explosion behind as the fire reached the gasoline in the tank and continued on quickly but keeping down, hoping that the dino's brain would try to contemplate the explosion for a short time.

By the time the T-Rex swallowed his third volunteer, the streets were cleared of any other holodeziens. Even the heavily armed gangstas stayed away from the thunder lizard as it turned the Hazard Team tryouts into a dinosaur sized buffet. Some holocharacters leaped into their cars and sped away; one such vehicle wasn't so lucky. The T-Rex swung its hammerlike head into the car with the force of a battering ram, flipping it over on its side, completely crumpling the driver side.

The T-Rex celebrated its victory with a massive war bellow.

Then fixed its homicidal eyes on Lieutenant Barnes and her flaming wreck of a vehicle.

It was very obvious to Claire that the explosion had done its job of distracting the dino from the others. Now, at least they might have a bit of a chance.

Picking up the hubcap that she had kept with her, she used it as a sort of shield before slowly edging towards the flaming car. For most creatures, fire was one thing that was to be avoided, and from what she hoped, reptile dinosaurs might feel the same.

Using the hubcap as a shield, she blew flame towards the T-Rex, thinking that maybe it wasn't a good idea.

The seven tonne thunder lizard cried out its dismay. Stomping out clawed foot shaped holes in the city's asphalt, it weaved its head to each side of the car's wreckage. The T-Rex 'wuffed' the burning car, recoiling its nose in terror.

Inside its puny dinosaur brain, the T-Rex didn't prefer his food char broiled... especially if it was he that had to endure the burning to get to her! It thought of going for easier prey... one of the fleeing bipedal apes looked appealing... so blonde... so scared, and with a Vulcan no less.

But then it spied what was happening to the last remaining couple of cars.

The dinosaur couldn't put the thoughts together in coherent standard, but it did translate to 'easy pickin's'.

Iniara paused to examine the object she was using for cover: the same sort of vehicle Lt. Barnes now seemed to be destroying. It was probably faster than the Tyranno-whatever; perhaps it could get her out of here.

Voss had taken cover near a large cube shaped vehicle...he found that he was uncertain of what to do with this challenge. If this had been a flight combat test, he would be reacting without thought, on pure instinct. If this had been a recreation of an ancient Bajoran city, he would at least have some idea of what he could use against the creature...but this archaic Terran city was completely alien to him.

The Bajoran considered the problem quickly, as he would any sort of enemy action. The choices were simple, attack or evade. Considering the size of this beast, attack seemed stupid. That left evade.

The large cube like vehicle he was standing next to...that would easily hold everyone. As the T-Rex was distracted by the explosion created by Claire, Voss quickly found a piece of brick and smashed his way in through one of the side windows. He scampered into the ground vehicle and looked at the cockpit...

Paulo had stuck it out with one other, Voss he thought, but wasn't sure. "They can't see you if you don't move," Paulo said in a low voice. "We need to get it distracted. We can then take this car, pick a the rest of the team up, and speed off, hoping that, that thing wont catch us."

Iniara was about to smash the window of the vehicle she was next to when a loud crash sounded near her. She turned towards the sound of the noise, just in time to see a figure crawling into a much larger vehicle. Maybe he knew how to operate one of these things.

He didn't have a clue how to start it. Voss cursed and tossed open the driver's side door just as another of the candidates passed by.

"You!" he shouted. "Do you know how to start this thing?"

"Maybe," Iniara replied, ducking into the vehicle. The cute Bajoran, she mused as she slammed the door shut. "Move over."

Iniara gave the vehicle a quick one-over. Pedals on the floor, round steering mechanism at chest height...it looked vaguely familiar. She stomped on the elongated pedal; that was one thing she remembered from her movie-going days. Nothing happened.

She cursed in Cardassian, one of the few phrases she still knew in the language and didn't mind using. "It needs power," she stated. "Keys. No wait, wiring. Hotwiring!" Her expression perked up as she remembered that little tidbit. "Help me get this cover off!" She began to pull at the vehicle's steering column.

Voss gestured for Iniara to sit back, and then planted the heel of a booted foot on the plastic covering. A few sharp blows later and the protective covering came loose and dropped into Iniara's lap. As she began to fiddle with the wiring, Voss crawled between the two, and only, seats in the vehicle and into the cargo area in the back.

There were two sets of doors, one in the back and one to the vehicle's port. He fiddled with the port door's ancient operating mechanism briefly before getting it to slide open.

After a few seconds testing wires, Iniara managed to pick the right pair, brushing them together until the vehicle's engine came to life. Tossing the mangled plastic cylinder behind her, she next turned her attention to getting the vehicle to move. Two black control sticks stuck out from either side of the wheel; she remembered they had something to do with making one of these things go. She twisted the one on the left and cursed again as it did nothing more than make two thin black pieces scrape across the front glass.

Paulo hopped into the back, literally diving in. The T-Rex was off doing something else, and he hoped they could get away.

Twisting the stick back to its original position she tried the second one, pulling it down since that was the only way it would go. A small needle near the bottom of the readout panel clicked to the right, from a white P to a red R. The vehicle began to move backwards very slowly. ~Nope, not it.~ She tried the next notch, a white N, and the vehicle began to slow.

Now quite annoyed, she clicked it down one more notch, to a green D. They began to move forward this time. ~Third try always works!~ "Hang on!" she shouted, before once more punching the large floor pedal.

The vehicle lurched forward, and Voss had to grip at the door opening for support...he should have stayed in the cockpit to drive this thing. Even if he didn't know how, it couldn't be any worse than Iniara's driving...

With a bit of leverage, Voss leaned out of the door and gestured wildly at the hazard team volunteers that he could see. "This way! In here!"

Paulo was really going to kill someone as the car lurched like that. As they slowed down to pick some people up, Paulo opened the back doors.

**************

"HAH!" O'Rourke triumphantly cheered, while a lagging T'lan panted behind her. She spoke while coughing for air, "The T-Rex is busy with some of the stragglers. If we don't hurry, we'll be next. T'lan... what do we do?"

The Vulcan security officer didn't show exasperation towards her more cowardly crewmate, but could show a degree of negativity towards O'Rourke. Running was a logical course of action; the most logical from O'Rourke in a long time.

But in stark terror with a scream to attract the large Terran dinosaur?

"This is highly illogical, Lieutenant. Must you attract so much attention and abandon your crewmates?" T'lan argued.

"Hey, I didn't see you stick around to hotwire an ancient automobile, right?" O'Rourke shot back.

T'lan was about to retort, but could find no logical answer. Though it turned her green in the face, T'lan decided to leave the argument won on O'Rourke's side.

Asphalt, nothing but asphalt and delapitated brick buildings. O'Rourke caught her breath while looking at the hated black and gray surface.

There was a lid on that black and gray surface that intrigued her.

"T'lan! I got it!" O'Rourke lunged for the manhole cover, prying her little fingers into the small holes. The lid was heavy and all metal. She grunted, heaved, dragged the cast iron lid off the sewer tunnel. A rank and horrible smell drifted into her nose, watering her eyes.

And T'lan helped lift the lid, flipping it aside with Vulcan ease.

"Shall we?" T'lan invited as O'Rourke wrinkled her nose.

*****************

*Snuf... snuff*

A T-Rex had a keen sense of smell, comparable to most Terran land hunters. The thunder lizard's loud snuffling caught the scent of dinner again.

Then its ears, also keen and accurate, heard the rumbling of a land based vehicle. By his hearing, the T-Rex caught the engine rumble like a loud gong announcing the entrance of an emperor.

"MMMMMMMMMRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRWWWWWWWWWW!!"

"Holly shit," Paulo said as he looked back. "STEP ON IT!!!!" Paulo really didn't want to be dinner for this thing.

Voss had just helped to pull one more volunteer into the cargo area when we looked back at Paulo's warning. The beast was chasing them, and it was far faster than he had realized. He cursed inwardly...

Iniara didn't have to be told twice, especially not with the angry bellowing going on behind the vehicle. ~Objects in mirror are closer than they appear?~ she thought, noting the small print on the door-mounted mirror and the reflection of the giant lizard within it. The thing was getting closer. ~Not good.~ She hit the accelerator, a bit more cautiously this time, but still hard enough to squeal the tires for a second before peeling away.

While all the action was happening, Nyssa had found her way to the back of the candy bar and stumbling into an old motorbike. She looked over the sleek red bike and traced her hands along the raised HONDA ZR1 letters which curved along side the fuel tank.

Her instincts quickly stepped in as she got onto the seat of the bike, turned the key and heard the high pitch engine roar into life. Her hands dropped the clutch leaver and the bike took off onto its rear wheel, she let go of the accelerator and quickly, through cheer necessity worked out how to drive this ancient thing. With a scream from the beast she tore out of the drive in and weaved her way onto the main street looking for the other members of the crew.

As the large van sped down the road, Iniara shouted back to the others. "Anyone here better at piloting than I am?" Driving fast and straight wasn't too difficult, but she really didn't want to be the one having to make complicated maneuvers if it came to that.

"Don't look at me," Paulo said as a few people had looked at him. "I am really going to talk to our Secuirty Chief after this. Being chased by a big lizard is supposed to see if we can be on this team?" It really didn't make any sence to Paulo, and being an Intelligence Officer, that really scared him. "I would recomend pushing that peddle to the floor," Paulo suggested.

Voss grunted and shook his head...he wasn't the most articulate of people at the best of times, and this wasn't a 'best of' type of situation. "I'm a pilot, but I have no idea how to operate this thing..."

"I'm guessing it's supposed to test our ability to work together and to keep calm in the most trying of circumstances," Iniara shouted, pushing her annoyance-- and the pedal-- farther down as she spoke. Anyone who'd seen a few old Terran movies would know the floor pedals and control wheel worked the vehicle, but as with any vehicle it took actual experience to pilot one decently. If anyone gave her grief about her poor performance after this was over...

In the back of her mind, Iniara searched for a way to stop the huge beast. She wondered if 'Commander Corgan had locked down the holodeck controls... "Computer! Create a tranquilizer gun with darts that can penetrate the giant lizard's hide and filled with the strongest tranquilizer available." Iniara waited to see if her command worked.

An object did get summoned, but it was not a tranquilizer gun.

More of a stone to the back of her head, materializing out of nowhere, striking her hard enough to leave a sore lump.

The rock bounced off of Iniara's head and landed next to Voss' foot. He glanced at it and noticed that there was a paper wrapped around the piece of stone. He picked it up, unwrapped the paper, and read aloud..."Congrats for figuring out the lesson, but no tranquilizer gun for you! Lt. Cmdr JLC."

Iniara rubbed the back of her head where the rock had impacted. She cursed under her breath as Voss read the note, half expecting it to read "Have a nice day!" as well.

***********************

Groaning when she heard the sound of a car starting, Claire knew that it was a bad idea. At the moment, it was very likely that the carnivore who's teeth could rip through the car would chase it.

Realising that there wasn't much she could do, she headed down the street towards the drive-in, keeping down and looking for anything that might be useful as a weapon. Further up, she spotted a steel pipe and grabbed it. It was probably useless, but felt reassuring at least as she continued.

***********************

"Marsh," Chase said, finally hitting upon something. So far, the gun nut seemed content to wait the monster out, and slowly it was working it's way past their position, but there was still no way they'd outrun it. "What do you know about makeshift explosives? Also, how good are you with thrown weapons?"

"Lady, lets be blunt here." Marsh grumbled, waving Chase over to duck into another alley, "We have less than fifteen minutes, we are running behind, and you want me to whip up a pointy stick trap and a homemade batch of C12 while we're at it?"

Without a response, Marsh sighed, "Look... we'll get to the theatre on time... if you follow me. There's no cars left... not that I can operate a relic like that. If we go at my pace, we'll be there. Ok? Follow me."

****************

Lurching forwards, its head weaving back and forth (actually, the T-Rex beast was watching both the speeding motorcycle and the Dodge Caravan, and switching it's view to one or the other in its primitive decision process as to which one he would devour first), the dinosaur crunched pavement and fire hydrants to go for a straight beeline at both targets.

Iniara continued to exert pressure on the vehicle's accelerator, watching in vain as the huge lizard closed the distance behind them. No wonder these vehicles had become obsolete...they were all but useless!

*Mrrrrrfff* *SNORT* Stomped the T-Rex, flattening sections of street, knocking aside streetlights and telephone poles like bamboo shoots, and turning terran automobiles into crumpled up pieces of tin and glass. Its angry snorts and growls followed the noisy Minivan and its frightened passengers.

The T-Rex made its move. Pumping its treetrunk legs and diving its body low, the monsterous lizardlike creature nipped playfully, catching the van's bumper on its teeth.

Iniara clenched her teeth, tightening her grip on the steering wheel as she attempted to control the vehicle?s trajectory.

There was a general outcry as the van took the hit, and a brief unhealthy grinding sound was emitted from the suspension. Voss held on tight to the side door frame, as did a few others.

"Crap!" Ensign Caldwell, one of the half dozen crewmen scrunched up in the back cargo compartment, screamed out, "Step on it!"

As if on cue, the T'Rex head butted the rear of the minivan. Glass noisily shattered and sprayed like buckshot, metal crumpled, the rear hatch of the van twisted and screeched as the T'Rex tore the door out of the van's rear. Then it galloped forth and side butted the van with its head, destroying the driver side windows and veering the van off its course.

The impact sent Voss off balance and over the backs of two prone officers. He rolled and landed wedged between the two seats in the cockpit. Iniara was doing her best to maintain control, now with a lap full of shattered glass from the driver's side window. The van was pulling to the right, thanks to the head butt, and she was trying to straighten out the trajectory. It was either that, or hit those buildings...

Voss blinked as he realized that there was a narrow alley between the two structures. Without thinking he grabbed Iniara's hand and yanked it along with the wheel in the direction of the alley. The van slid sideways and impacted against one of the buildings as it literally skidded into the narrow passage.

"Step on it!" Voss yelled, mimicking the phrase the Terrans had been yelling the entire time.

Iniara had reflexively let off on the gas a bit when the van started to weave, hoping that the cumbersome vehicle wouldn?t skid, or worse yet, roll over. Once inside the alleyway she pushed Voss? hand off the wheel and floored it again. She focused on keeping the vehicle off the narrow walls, a task made even more difficult by the strong pull to the right. The vehicle grazed the side of a building once, then twice, each hit punctuated with increasingly acidic curses.

Voss turned and looked back along the length of the van...he had hoped that the alley would have been too narrow for the T-Rex, but it was just wide enough for the beast's bulk...It was right on their tail.

The buglike metal creature still did not give up! It infuriated the canivore to no end. Another sonic splitting bellow escaped its jagged mouth, as the beast then lunged , sinking a jawful of bloody maw into the minivan's roof. The van squealed its tires, inching more slowly in the T-Rex's grip.

Then, the T-Rex shook its head violently, rocking the van back and forth, tumbling the volunteers into balls of limbs and torsoes.

Iniara screamed in frustration as she felt the grip of the T-Rex on the vehicle. Not only had it slowed their progress, now it was lifting the rear of the vehicle enough to render the two powered wheels all but useless. She kept her foot planted firmly on the accelerator and the wheels continued to spin freely now that they had almost zero contact with the ground.

"Oh man... Oh man..." Caldwell panicked, "Oh man.... i'm outta here!"

Caldwell crawled out of the vehicle, darting past the T-Rex's legs while going the opposite direction. The T-Rex sensed the sudden movement, and turned to hunt down the morsel of ape meat while spitting out a libral chunk of the minivan's roof.

"Oh man oh man oh man..." Caldwell weeped.

*Mrrrrrffff!*

Caldwell's last sight was that of the T-Rex's teeth coming down on his body. Gingerly, the dinosaur plucked the human, tossed him into the air, and swallowed him whole, just like it was a piece of popcorn at the movies.

There was just enough time to catch sight of that before the van shot out from the alleyway and back onto one of the main roads...

Iniara hadn't been quite sure of their ultimate destination, having no idea what a drive-in theater might be. Once back on the main road though, she spotted a garish neon sign (not that something that huge was hard to notice) that read 'Starlite Theater'. It was the only thing on the street that was advertised as a 'theater', so it must have been the right place. Cutting the wheel harshly she skidded into a huge dirt lot, failed to avoid several bumps in the uneven ground, then stomped on the brake pedal until the van came to a stop, dust billowing everywhere.

************

The theatre outside was showing the latest movie...

Of 1956.

Something to do with dinosaurs and claymation, but a ripping good show nonetheless.

The first to arrive was the minivan party and a diplomat on a motorcycle. Since they were the only ones with vehicles that were not turned into glorified tins of 'canned human', they reached the theatre and finished with five minutes to spare.

Secondly, scattered remnants of foot sloggers, all dead tired and ducking around corners looking for the T-Rex, began to plop their tired rear ends on the drive in's dirt ground, and watch the flick with not so amused silence.

The last people to arrive came from underground. A manhole cover shifted, grinding its metal on asphalt tune, then it popped off. Lieutenant O'Rourke sprang out, a rusted spanner in her hand, reeking heavily of sewer muck and covered in filth. She plunged her hand back into the hole whence she came, and pulled up an equally filthy and exhausted Vulcan.

In a panic, both female officers sprinted away from the hole. Another head appeared out; a scaled, reptilian head full of pointed teeth, with a long, bumpy jaw and glittering brown eyes. It growled and wriggled, but couldn't find itself a way out of the hole. The reptile grumbled its last, surrendering snarl, then went back into its sewer home.

Lieutenant jg's Shelly O'Rourke and T'Lan survived the running of the dinosaurs.

O'Rourke panted, coughing as she kept he swore. "Sewer gators! T-Rex's! What the hell was the boss thinking?!"

It was there that O'Rourke and T'lan passed out on a patch of gravel.

T'lan responded, "No, what were you thinking when you signed up?"

O'Rourke balefully looked at her companion, "You signed me up you green blooded twit."

"Facinating." T'lan raised a Vulcan eyebrow, "That I did. I was told that I should work on a sense of humour. Was my attempt successful?"

Shelly frankly replied, "Not only were we about to be devoured by holographic dinosaurs, thrown through muck, and put in a trial that is damn near impossible... you didn't make me laugh, so no."

"How odd..." T'lan pondered, "How odd indeed."

"T'lan. Please shut up."

Just as the last few volunteers had arrived, a pimply-faced teenager in an ugly uniform jogged up to the side of the destroyed van. "You can't park here!" he squeaked out, seemingly oblivious to the van's state and the less than amused passengers inside. "You have to pay first!"

Iniara had remained frozen, hands still clenched to the wheel and eyes fixed blankly on the theater screen as she waited for her adrenaline rush to subside. With deliberate slowness she turned her head to look at the kid, fixing steel grey eyes angrily on him. "Go. Away." She then turned back to the screen just as slowly, not caring if the kid tried to repeat himself or just did as he was told.

Paulo was just happy that test was over. That was not the most fun thing he had ever done, but it did get some of them working together for a common goal; not to get eaten.

"Protecting Their World"

BY:
Lt (jg) Kay MacFarland-Fienberg
Lt (jg) Klaus Fienberg

**Fienberg's Apartment**

Kay was already in the apartment and relaxing on the couch reading an good book as she started to get her uniform jacket off, she had an very hard day at work.

The poor girl even started hating to work in the science department.

Bad feelings die hard. Klaus had just returned from a therapy session. He was wearing civilian clothes....and disturbed about the current mission.

He entered. "Hello my dear. Did you hear we're going to Breen?"

"Yes it's going to be hell."

Klaus collapsed on the couch. "The Counsellers say I'm making progress."

Kay put her book down an lay head on his lap, "I'm so proud of you Imzadi."

Klaus put his hand on her shoulder. "I wonder what kind of crew the Miranda has. I don't normally pay attention to such things."

"I don't pay no attention to the Miranda period."

Klaus raised an Eyebrow. "Are you familiar with them?"

"Rose and my cousin Lily used to be on there along with her husband, after the last commanding officer was killed her life wasn't the same so they left." Kay said bitterky, wishing she knew where Lily was now.

"Quite understandable. I believe I may have heard of him. What was his name? It slips my mind."

"I don't remember." Kay replied while laying on his chest hearing his heart beat.

"Fair Enough."

Klaus remained silent for a time. Then spoke. "I miss Erik. I miss that vile excuse for a human being."

"Me too, so does Rose in an way." she said while thinking about their future together.

"This is our world. And I want to protect it. I must prepare myself."

Kay lift up her head and said, "I want to help you if you'll let me."

Klaus relaxed a little. "You do know of the man that wants to kill me right? I want you to get some phaser training."

The young woman lay her head back on his chest thinking about it, then replied "I will do as you say, as long it keeps you safe."

"Keeps US safe."

"I more worried about you than myself, I love you I don't want to lose you."

If things were this bad.....could they get worse. "You won't. I promise you."

Kay then kissed him gently on the mouth thinking why is this man want to kill Klaus? And does this man know about her having been married to him?

Almost seeming like he was telepathic, "There might be more at stake than him just wanting to kill me. He supposedly died during the retaking of DS9, and his body was never recovered. It could mean....."

"I will do anything to protect you."

Klaus really didn't know what to think of it. He always figured he was the protector, the line of defense for himself and Kay. Perhaps a change in think was in order.

OOC: This takes place between "A Word With the Friendly Flight Officer" (posted 9 July) and "Positioning" (posted 14 July)

"Clipped Wings"

Principle characters:
Sub-Commander Savar ir-Aihai tr'Khellian
Acting Chief Tactical Officer,
USS Galaxy

Lieutenant Corran Rex
Squadron Leader,
Vanguard Squadron,
USS Galaxy

Tech Sgt. Peter St. Valentine
Chief Technician,
Vanguard Squadron,
USS Galaxy

****

Flight Deck,
Deck 39
USS Galaxy

****

Five minutes after Technical Sergeant Peter St. Valentine had returned from Sickbay, still wincing from Dr Malgin's rough ministrations to his mangled hand, Sub-Commander tr'Khellian strode through the giant, reinforced double doors which led to the upper gantry to the Flight Deck. He paused at the railing, glaring haughtily around as technicians banged and clattered at the fightercraft skulking on the deck below. The Romulan's steely eyes sighted Lieutenant Rex, and Savar wasted no time in making his way over, his boots ringing on the steel steps as he descended.

Rex looked up from some schematics as tr'Khellian approached. He nodded politely. "Sub-Commander. To what do we owe this unexpected visit?"

"One of your officers needs to be put on report, Lieutenant," tr'Khellian said, getting straight to the point. "Flight Officer A'Akledorian put on a thoroughly disgraceful show this morning, shouting, screaming and swearing at me in Andorian, in front of around one hundred officers and men taking breakfast in Ten Forward. I will not tolerate that sort of insolence from anyone."

"Hmmn." Corran said, frowning slightly. "This is the first I've heard of it, Sub-Commander, I'm sorry to say. What exactly happened?"

"The computer had alerted me to her return to the Galaxy. I had intended to seek out the Flight Officer, and congratulate her personally on her performance in the battle against the rogue Rihannsu vessels the Galaxy defeated," Savar explained. The Galaxy had been on a mission to locate the USS Pallas Athena, which had gone missing with a flag officer onboard during a routine patrol along the Federation-Rihannsu border. The exact circumstances were still unclear, and Savar had his suspicions, but the Pallas Athena had been attacked by Romulan vessels apparently acting on their own authority. The Galaxy had barely escaped the encounter intact.

"However," tr'Khellian went on, "when I asked if I might join her for breakfast, she was immediately hostile and rapidly became offensive and aggressive, spitting racial epithets and, as I have said, screaming and swearing at me in her native tongue."

"Well, I'd say that doesn't sound like her at all, but lately it does, unfortunately." the Trill mused. "And she just instantly lost it? I don't want to doubt you - your word is certainly good enough for me, I'm just trying to make sure - there was no provocation from you at all?"

Savar gave Rex a look which would have frozen mercury. "That, Lieutenant, is an impertinent question. Even had I 'provoked' her, as you so crudely put it, there was no excuse for her behaviour." His eyes flashed angrily at the very suggestion that his approach had been inappropriate. "I intended to congratulate your snarling Andorian, not to bring about the disgraceful confrontation that she produced."

"I said I was just making sure, Sub-Commander." The Trill replied in an even tone. "There's no need for snarls and dirty looks."

About this time, St. Valentine made his way over to Rex, as well. "Excuse me, Sub-Commander, Lieutenant," Peter tried his best to approximate the respectful bow to the Romulan, as well as a nod to his CO, Rex. Though Pete remained wary around the Rihannsu that served onboard the Galaxy, he didn't fear or loathe them abjectly, as most others did. He simply figured that if he left them alone, then they'd be more likely to leave *him* alone, as well.

Savar nodded politely, acknowledging a rare respect for Rihannsu tradition. His eyes snapped to the man's insignia and identified him as a senior technician with the squadron. He also noticed immediately that the man was injured.

Pete decided to get straight to the point: "I want off of Tish's rig, sir. I guess she's been pretty high-strung, lately, and I...well...*surprised* her," he waved the now-mended (but still in a temporary cast) hand around. He paused, for a second, looking around, and wishing that they could discuss this somewhere a little more private.

Sub-Commander tr'Khellian raised an eyebrow and shot Rex an 'I told you so' look, before nodding in the direction of the squadron leader's office. "Let us adjourn to your office, Lieutenant," Savar 'suggested'. St. Valentine's discomfort was readily apparent, and, coming from a culture which prized face-saving above most other things, nor was Savar keen on discussing things in too public a setting, even if A'Akledorian deserved all the public humiliation she could get.

Looking down at Valentine, the Trill simply replied "Yes, let's. Somehow I get the feeling this is not going to be a short conversation."

Pete followed the others to Rex's private office, off to the portside of the expansive hanger deck, in the squadron offices corridor.

"Allright, Valentine, what happened?" the Lieutenant asked, not sitting at his desk, but rather standing behind it.

Sighing (and while absently rubbing his still-sore hand), "I was just going on lunch break, when I heard some...um...'colorful metaphors' coming from underneath Tish's fighter, back in Bay Three," he hitched the thumb of his uninjured hand over his shoulder. "So, I went to investigate, as my team had just started to install the new avionics package that the Flight Officer had ordered, before we left 212."

Peter's eyes darted first to Rex - watching, with a frown beginning to form on his face - to the Rihannsu, who still seemed pretty steamed by whatever had taken place in Ten-Forward.

Continuing, "So, I see that she's got her head stuck up in the thing, and I go to just tap her on the shoulder, right?" he again motioned the action on Rex with his good hand, "and she just went...*nuts* on me, sir. I mean, ask Leverin, or Stanley, or T'Nenga, they all saw it, too!"

Rex looked to Savar then. "And you say that she started the name-calling when you asked her to join you for breakfast? Can you recall.. Anything specific that she said?"

"I can recall the conversation very clearly, Lieutenant," Savar stated flatly. "She began snarling at me, told me to get out of her way, and called me a 'G'thak'. When I asked for an explanation of her behaviour, she began yelling very loudly. I ordered her to desist in her unruly and insubordinate behaviour, but she reacted even more violently. Among other choice insults were the words 'f'theking hor-torder' and the instruction to insert myself into my own rectum." Savar scowled. He had a very good memory, particularly when he repeated exchanges over and over in his head - like this one. His righteous indignation had scarcely abated from the time of the incident itself.

~Well. She's got any impressive vocabulary for such a young kid, doesn't she?~ Vorrin mused.

~Shut up, Vorrin.~

"I'm responsible for my Pilots' well being, Savar, in every way. She'll certainly be put on report for what you've told me. But I need as much information as I can from the two of you to try to figure this out, because I'm probably not going to get it from her. I refuse to simply transfer her somewhere else and let her become their problem. I'm certain someone with your leadership experience understands the concept of seeing to one's troops."

"Quite so," tr'Khellian nodded. "I am, however, at a loss as to why she reacted with instant hostility to my approach. I should say she is mentally unstable. Perhaps you should consider taking her off duty."

Pete sighed again, and just slumped down into one of the seats near Corran's desk. He really didn't wish for anyone to get into trouble, but he also knew that he sure as hell didn't want to work on this woman's fighter, if she truly was...*whacko*...

Rex rubbed his temple for a moment - the prospect of the problems this was going to cause was already starting to give him a headache. But the Rihannsu was correct - Tish seemed very unstable right now.

Well, she'd never exactly come off as a rock, Corran reluctantly admitted to himself (and any of the other voices in his head who were listening in.) It seemed she was a problem that needed to be dealt with now. "I hate taking a good pilot off the roster, especially while we're in hostile space. But you're right, Sub-Commander. She does seem to be unstable."

Pete cast his eyes down and nodded, not wanting to comment on anything, while the Sub-Commander was present.

"Very well." The Squadron Leader decided. "Computer, note the following: Flight Officer T'Shani A'Akledorian is hereby removed from active flight status, pending a full psychological evaluation by Counselor Dallas or another member of the ship's psychiatric staff. Also remove flight priveledges from her fighter's keycard."

["Record appended."] the computer dutifully responded. ["Status of Flight Officer A'Akledorian listed under Medical Suspension."]

Tr'Khellian nodded and stood. "Hopefully you can find out why she is acting in such a bizarre fashion, Lieutenant. Certainly I trust I will hear the outcome of any discussions before you consider removing her from medical suspension."

"Without a doubt." Corran replied with a brisk nod.

Savar returned the nod then, to both Rex and St Valentine. "Lieutenant. Sergeant." And then he was gone.

After the Tactical officer departed, Rex raised an eyebrow at St. Valentine's remaining behind. "Something else, Sergeant?"

"Um...sir," Peter gulped absently, already feeling bad enough about the whole thing, as it was.

"Yes?" the Trill responded, drawing the word out in indication that he was waiting for the NCO to continue.

"Well, its just that the other guys said that she's not always been *this*...um...bitchy, sir. T'Nenga said it started after whatever mission she had gone off to...some Black Op? I dunno..." he frowned, trying to recall the what the half-Vulcan electronics specialist had been telling him.

"That's the rumor, Mr. St. Valentine." he responded, somewhat suprised - but not really after a moment's thought - that the word on Tish's "reassignment" had filtered down through the ranks. "Officially, of course, we have no idea where the Flight Officer was."

Pete straighted up, eyeing Rex, "Yes, sir. I know it's not within my position to postulate on her behavior, but I have noticed that she's been quite emotional, ever since the thing at Gryphon. And it just seems to be getting worse."

"I'd certainly have to agree there, Sergeant." Corran said with a small sigh.

"And..." Pete reached into the oversized pocket of his decksuit, "I know it's none of my business, but I found this," he handed what looked to be a small holoprojector to the Trill, "on the deck, after our...*misunderstanding*. I think she dropped it, accidentally."

Then, nervously eyeing the device, then Rex, "I haven't looked at it, Sir. It's not my business, and she's a superior officer. But I did notice that whatever is on it is unencoded. So..." he let the conclusion linger in the air, before nervously clearing his throat, "Um...permission to get back to work, sir?"

"Permission granted." the Lieutenant replied hollowly as he accepted the small holoprojecter. The technician departed quietly then, and the Trill was left staring at the small device.

Decisions, decisions....

"Not-So-Auspicious Beginning"

Principal Characters

Captain Elaithin Jii
Legate Kylar Curran
Legate Abigail Pryce-Randall
Counselor Karyn Dallas, RN
Counselor Navarre Shinta
Commander Arel Smith
Lieutenant Victor Krieghoff
Lieutenant Cole Cantrell
Counselor Ammalyn Lywhyn
Ensign Zeke Wikkins

****

Captain Elaithin Jii and the rest of the away team members - Legate Pryce-Randall, Commander Smith, Counselor Navarre and Lieutenant Cantrell from the Miranda, and Legate Curran, Counselor Dallas, Counselor Lywhyn, Lieutenant Kreighoff and Ensign Wikkins from the Galaxy rounding things out - beamed down into a steel courtyard. The Breen, fittingly enough, seemed to be fans of ice sculptures, and several majestic ones representing creatures Jii couldn't begin to recognize graced their vision.

Victor eyed the statures for a moment, and then looked around the courtyard. It was shielded, obviously, since they hadn't frozen solid as soon as they materialized, but the open top to the area hinted that a single flick of a switch could drop the force field that held back the normal temperatures. He didn't like that, they were too exposed here. They needed to be inside.

"What do you know. It seems they aren't completely void of culture after all." Pryce-Randall commented quietly, where only Jii could hear.

Shinta paused for a second taking in the sculptures. Maybe this would tell her some more about Breen culture, so far she hadn't found much information that had been helpful to give her and inside into their world.

"Indeed." the Bajoran replied, turning his attention to the Breen that were approaching.

"Captain." the mechanical voice supplied. "If you and your team will come this way, Governor Born is awaiting you in the designated negotiating chamber."

"Very well." the Captain replied, and the team began to follow as directed. Only the Security officers were armed, a point that Elaithin was still wondering if it would cause contention among their.. hosts. The corridors they were lead down consisted of a myriad of steel and grey color variations. In their official buildings, it seemed, the Breen favored function over form. That was something the practical Bajoran found somewhat refreshing, having seen more governments than he cared to admit focus on appearances rather than getting things done. If they were that practical as a species, perhaps this negotiation had a chance of success after all.

"Right down to business." Arel commented as they walked. "I think I like that." She still had managed to conceal extra knives though. Practicality didn't mean the Breen weren't going to try something stupid.

"It certainly is refreshing." was the response that Karyn gave the Security officer.

Curran, having remained silent on beam down, shot Dallas a dangerous look.

"Let us hope it remains that way." Between all the counselors that knew nothing about the Breen, and a pregnant security officer whose speed and mental stability was severely impaired, he wondered if he would escape this with any sense of accomplishment, for he doubted anything would get done with all these wishy-washy types hanging around. The Breen would most likely have been more at ease with male military crew all around, instead of

the deception-riddled women they would most likely be offended by.

It was more than uncomfortable to note the senior two Galaxy counselors were accompanying the group, dutifully noting his every move no doubt. Dallas was probably plotting his demise here on Breen in some warped sense of balancing the scales back in her favor by sabotaging the talks.

Lywhyn and her 'pet' had no business being here, unless it were at the request of a Starfleet or Federation official to keep an eye on him, perhaps with powers to remove him at their behest should he fall.

The designated room was not too far from the beam-down coordinates, and Elaithin was surprised to find there were seats enough for everyone. Perhaps a dozen Breen occupied the room, and the attendant turned to him a final time. "Quarters have been prepared for you and your personnel. Per the Governor's directives, you will be shown them at the end of the day."

"That will be acceptable." Elaithin replied with a gracious nod. "Thank you."

The most elaborate-looking Breen approached then, and folded his arms behind him. "I am Governor Born, leader of the Breen Confederacy. Welcome to our world. You are the first to be invited here in... quite some time."

"I'm glad we were able to come, Governor. The honor is ours." was the reply, before he introduced himself. "I'm Captain Elaithin Jii of the Federation Starship Miranda. May I present Legates Kylar Curran and Abigail Pryce-Randall, of the Federation Diplomatic Corps, Counselors Karyn Dallas, Navarre Shinta, and Ammalyn Lywhyn, and Commander Arel Smith, Lieutenant Victor Kreighoff, Lieutenant Cole Cantrell and Ensign Zeke Wikkins."

Born offered a perfunctory nod, seeming rather unassuming and far more... Polite than Elaithin would have suspected.

Curran offered a slight dip of the head at his introduction, eyes firmly on the Governor's glowing eyeplate.

Ammanalyn watched the interactions of the people around her in silence, feeling conspicuous as Tampatiaen stood at her side in full snow leopard appearance. For the life of her, Ammanalyn had been unable to convince him to shift into something more unassuming, more practical. It was more than a

little irritating. Besides the fact that she was very much outside of her element-- she seriously doubted any of the Breen needed trauma counseling-- she wasn't sure what to make of the Bajoran Captain who was speaking for them, or the other Counselors in the group: there was Karyn, with whom she didn't get along in the least, and Navarre Shinta, who was a little, well... freaky. There was Kylar, who eyed her every once in a while in that smoldering, blaming way she quickly had grown accustomed to during their counseling session. He had a cute butt, sure, but that didn't mean he was in any way tolerable: he was the most self-deprecating egotist she'd ever met, and a chauvinist to boot.

And then there was Victor who was, well, in a word: fascinating. But that Arel Smith creature kept eying him as though she knew him. As for the others, she had no opinion. What in Dust was she doing here, anyway?

Folding his arms across his chest Cantrell stifled a yawn. Boredom had already settled itself nice and snug in his mind. There wasn't much for him to do. The Breen seemed to be the same pretentious a-holes they were where he came from. At least some things didn't change.

Shinta was still observing everything around her. She was not relaxed, her old instincts taking over, and she felt very naked without a weapon. Yet she had learned to make herself appear relaxed and unthreatening.

Karyn retained a look of polite interest throughout the exchange, but was inwardly edgy. For several reasons, Breen wasn't the place she pictured she would get her diplomatic legs underneath her again. She supposed if Brhode were here he'd find a perverse pleasure in knowing that her exploits had landed her an assignment on the "gawd damned frozen piece of hell!"

Dallas felt her stomach lurch upon hearing her name in the list of introductions. She wasn't sure what sort of reaction she expected to get, but when none was forthcoming, she wasn't sure whether to be on guard or at ease. It didn't help matters that one of her fellow counselors, indeed a member of her own staff, was still not happy with her. Karyn would be the first to admit things had gotten off to a rocky start, but she'd apologized, and yet Dallas could tell the younger woman was still uneasy with her. Unfortunately, first impressions weren't easily overcome, and, given Karyn's moodiness of late, she wasn't sure she would know how even if she thought it would help.

Curran stepped to the forefront, slipping past the ignominious Starfleet representatives.

"Governor Born, may I be the first to acknowledge that in these first steps of relations between our two respective governments, the establishment of a firm alliance shall continue to bear fruit beyond our own lifetimes." He sincerely hoped the Breen were forgiving of the incidents on lanjep, where no blame had ever been proven of their involvement in Captain Price's capture, yet the Federation and Klingons had different thoughts on that matter.

"The official negotiation of the treaties between our two governments will be represented by myself and Legate Pryce-Randall. In a gesture of good faith, no other personnel here are authorized to make concession on behalf of the Federation."

Elaithin fought the urge to frown at that admission. While technically true, the Legate's statement demeaned the presence of all the other members of the away team - as though they were mere window dressing. Still on an occasion such as this, he was glad he had been allowed to pick his own team. If it had been left to Curran, he doubted the team would have had any aces up it's sleeve. The Diplomatic Corps permanent presence aboard starships was still an adjustment.

"That shall not be a problem, Legate." Something about the sincerity not feeling genuine came to Kylar's mind, but just as quickly he shoved it aside. It was quite possibly the dread of being on the home planet of a dread enemy so far from home. Watching the Breen leader, Captain Elaithin imagined he was raising an eyebrow then. "I was under the impression, however" the Governor started "That many of your Federation starship captains often handled diplomatic matters as well."

The Bajoran had to smile slightly at that. "I'm just here to help make sure things go smoothly, Governor. I try to leave the negotiations to the diplomats."

"That is not what the Remans claim."

"The Viceroy and I came to a special understanding that day." the Captain nodded with a half-smile. "Neither of us wished to see the thousands of good men and women in our fleets die in a pointless war. A desire that I sincerely hope will be repeated here."

"As a gesture of good faith on our part, I must ask that you remain in this compound we have created for your use. Being that the environment outside is not to your... liking. I have taken the liberty of recalling your ambassador so that he may share what little 'cultural knowledge' he has obtained during his stay." It didn't take an idiot to understand it was Intel gathered while on-planet by the Federation Embassy outpost stationed here on Breen.

"I confess some surprise at that, Governor." Captain Elaithin noted thoughtfully. "After all, we are allowing your observers to roam freely aboard our starships. We had hoped to learn more of your people and your customs during our stay here."

"Your ships have immense firepower between them. Due to your treaty after the War," Emphasis on the word *your*, "Our fleet has been downgraded and now patrolling our borders. We must be assured you are here in true peace and not in aggression. Our officers verifying your compliance are under orders to retain that peace - at all costs. Your Federation has displayed a rather disturbing lack of trust in our people since lanjep. We must be assured of your promises so as we don't find ourselves suddenly bombarded from orbit."

Jii had to give Karyn credit. It was the first mention of lanjep - no doubt of many - and the veil over her face hadn't broken a bit. Perhaps she'd learned to play poker since they'd served together.

"You have nothing to fear from our ships, Governor." Elaithin replied carefully. He didn't wish to add that sneak attacks on homeworlds were the province of the other side of the table in this instance.

Kylar immediately thought of the Breen when they ambushed Earth and destroyed the Academy from orbit. It would only be justice if the two Starfleet ships reacted alike... no. This was a mission of peace. Their actions precluded his own desires. They knew what they were capable of, perhaps their lack of understanding the Federation made them think they would do the same, if not worse. Oh, if they only knew how soft-hearted these Feds were.

"Make yourselves comfortable. The compound may be small, but it is suitable for your physiologies. We shall begin negotiations in two hours."

"Two hours it is, Governor." the Captain replied, as the team begin entering the designated set of rooms.

As they entered, Lieutenants Kreighoff and Cantrell both raised a hand, and each raised a small detection advice.

"Don't Mess with an Engineer" or, paraphrased from 'Hook'- "Don't mess with me man, I'm an engineer!"

by
Cmdr. Jerri Wolfson
Cmdr. Jack Dawson
& Breen Observers (NPCs, with some verbage added by Ian)

The thought of dealing with the Breen made Jack's blood go cold. The irony of the statement was not lost on him as he ran over the day's reports. A rumor had circulated around the ship that they may have even had dealings with the T'Kith'Kin Hive which caused his blood to run colder still. Any race that would have dealings with his former captors were worth watching with close scrutiny.

Putting aside his personal feelings for the moment, he grabbed a padd and walked over to where Jerri was working.

"Here's today's report for you, boss," he teased.

Just the tip of her tongue was protruding from the corner of her mouth as she worked on prying loose the panel with the flat edge of her swiss army knife. The fact that she avoided using a number of 'modern contraptions' tended to confuse a number of the newer recruits to the Miranda, but she didn't care. This was, after all, why she had chosen engineering. When her second had stepped up behind her and spoke, she had just managed to pry loose the cover, sending it clanging to the ground. "Stupid thing," she mock glared at it before looking up at Jack, "Boss, huh? I thought it was Your Majesty today." She grinned at him, accepting the PADD and giving it a cursory glance.

"I do apologize, Your Majesty. All those reports must have fried my brain and I forgot," he smirked. "You see that we're scheduled to show our 'guests' around at thirteen-hundred?"

"Oh crap," Jerri sighed, leaning against the now-open console, "That's today, isn't it? I was so hoping that that was tomorrow...or a bad dream. Either one of those would've worked."

"I'll take bad dream myself. I just hope they don't expect too much in terms of what they get to look at. Strike that, I hope they do. I'd love to be the one to disappoint them."

"You've got the opaque shields set up around the core, right? We'll need to blank some of the screens too..." she looked around the room and sighed as she saw so many classified things that would definitely need to be hidden once their 'guests' arrived. This disrupted the fine flow of engineering work, but her complaints to the Captain had gone unheeded. Jii had understood, he said, but this was in the spirit of diplomacy. Whatever.

"Already put the orders through for it. We should have it done within the hour."

An evil grin passed over his face. "Think anyone would mind if we replaced them with the specs for a nice Hunan chicken dish?"

An echoing grin appeared on her face, "I like the way you think, Jack. Hunan chicken it is...and maybe some specs for a classic Model T Ford on one of the other monitors..."

"Ah, the Model T. What an innovative design for the time," he mused. "Jer," he finally said what was really on his mind, "you think this is for real?"

"The Breen?" she asked, anticipating his nod, "I don't know, Jack...something about this just seems incredibly, well, fishy. Diplomacy was never one of my better subjects at the Academy, so who knows...but...I do think they're hiding something, something big, and we're going to be stuck right in the middle of it."

"Didn't you know that the definition of 'Miranda' is 'in the middle of it all'?" he quipped.

Perhaps he and his Chief Engineer were sharing the same paranoid vision of what was to come in the days ahead. Then again, he had a nagging feeling that everything wasn't what it seemed.

"Well, with the Breen around, I suppose that just elicits watching your back."

"Yeah, I always do," she stole a glance at the chrono and frowned, twenty minutes remained before their guests arrived, "I guess we should get started on the majority of our classified clean up here. You want the screens or the core?"

"I'll work on the screens, if that's alright with you."

"Sure, the escorts are supposed to call us before they get here, right?" she asked as she stepped towards the warp core.

"One would surely hope so. You know how much I love it when visitors drop in unannounced."

"No kidding," Jerri replied as she went to the cabinets that held the projector screens. However, like things tended to happen in her life, the unexpected was to be expected.

Especially when one was the Chief Engineer of a starship called Miranda.

A wave of cold preceded their entrance, as if the air itself dropped in temperature to take into account the icy chill of their presence. It was the moment of silence that was the most telling - the silence accompanied by harsh breathing that would do Darth Vader proud.

The Breen had arrived.

Jack had once heard someone mention a law that was stated by a man named Murphy in the early days of Earth's history that said if something could go awry, it usually did. At this moment, he wanted nothing more than to find Murphy and punch him.

He walked over to Jerri. "Well, looks like our house guests have arrived. Think we should offer them something to drink? I'll make sure there's ice in the freezer."

Jerri cursed under her breath at the all too obvious presence of the Breen. A random thought occurred to her, a thought that she voiced, "Of all the gin joints, in all the world, they had to walk into mine..."

"Well, when you serve the best drinks in the quadrant, what'd you expect," he smirked.

He approached the Breen that had just stepped in the door. "Gentlemen...or ladies," he began. Truthfully, he couldn't tell. They didn't really have the curvature that normally gave away the female gender in most alien cultures. "May we be of some service to you?"

The Breen did not bother to respond to Jack, nor did they respond to any of the other officers that approached them. Instead their obvious attention was directed towards the displays arrayed around them and the giant warp core. One of the two stepped forward, it's cold gaze slipping over Jack and dismissing him as if he were nothing. It's attention was solely on the warp core beyond them.

A wealth of information was to be had here, and if it's mouth were visible, it would've been smiling.

Jerri stepped forward to add her body to the blocking motion of her assistant, "You are not allowed in this area without proper escort, sirs. Please follow me out of this area and I will contact the proper authorities to notify them of your presence."

The Breen practically laughed out loud.

Jack reached out to grab the Breen's shoulder. In turn, the alien threw an offending punch in his direction. Easily avoiding it, Jack connected with a well placed knee to the Breen's midsection causing the monstrosity to double over. Not hesitating for a moment, Jack quickly slammed his clasped fists down onto the back of its neck.

At least, that's how it happened in his mind.

In reality, Jack simply gritted his teeth. Speaking in a calm and diplomatic manner, he said, "Perhaps you could enlighten us on the humor of the situation as we escort you out of here. Upon meeting up with your security escort, I'm sure that you could return and then we would be willing to answer any questions that you might have."

The problem with Breen helmets is that there was no way to ascertain the emotions that they were experiencing. No doubt, however, this one was not happy with the tone that Jack had used with him.

What would have passed as amusement flickered through the Breen representative as it gave a moment's thought to how it should have been. He should have mocked the humans before him before tearing the flesh from their bones as they screamed in terror at the might of the Breen people. However, orders were orders and these people, and he used the phrase loosely, never would realize how close they had come to their end.

"Your security escort is not required. It is necessary to ascertain that your navigational systems are compliant with the terms specified by our Commander. Your full cooperation is mandatory," the other Breen stated arrogantly.

"On the contrary," Jerri stated, for the moment not caring one iota about the peace process, "It is *mandatory* that you be escorted in all secure areas of this starship. You *will* follow me outside this department for further instructions."

The Breen officers tilted their heads slightly in response to Jerri's order. Then, as if she hadn't spoken at all, they turned and proceeded on their original course of action. Jack had about all he could take by this point. Admittedly, it really hadn't taken much to set him off at this point.

"I don't think you heard what the lady said. You will not," he stressed the not, "be going any further without your security escort. Kindly see yourselves out and don't let the door smack you on the rear on the way out."

"You have been ordered by the Commander of this fleet to comply. Do you disobey the requirement of uncontested access to your systems?" The gritty rasp of the mechanical voice generated by the Universal translator did not delay the coldness resonating in its voice. "We are not under Starfleet orders. While in our boundaries, you are to concede to our needs as we specify. Failure to do so will result in measures to be carried out under our own terms. Your presence is not required unless it is to respond to queries by Breen personnel on your systems."

"We have been ordered to comply with your presence on this ship, however your presence does come with stipulations. Which include an escort at all times and in all locations of this starship. I will not have my Main Engineering turned into a circus for your enjoyment. You may observe, you may look, but God as my witness, you cannot and will not do so without your escort," Jerri pointedly looked at Jack, gesturing towards the comm panel, "Find out what happened to them."

"It is not our concern on your presentation of personnel in whatever routine a 'circus' may be." The resonance of the word 'circus' was drawn out; a computer facsimile of a pause. "If you do not comply, your Gods will witness your persecution in the eyes of Breen law."

She barely, just barely, bit back the retort of 'Oh, I'm just shaking in my boots' that had automatically come to mind. Jerri's eyes narrowed as she stepped forward, "I'm afraid that we don't quite understand each other. In Main Engineering, I *am* the law and I can be just as stubborn as you are. Get out."

"This is a violation of the agreement. You will comply."

Jerri smiled in such a way that most wise people would find themselves rather afraid. Stepping backwards, she waited until she hit the panel behind her with the heels of her boots. A few seconds later, the tell-tale hum of a transporter beam echoed through Main Engineering and the Breen were gone.

"Sir?" a rather confused voice asked, "Where did you send them?"

Wolfson's smile grew ever wider as she replied, "The waste removal plant, Ensign, the waste removal plant."

1554